The Burnt God
by Love Missile
Summary: Melkor has been imprisoned in the halls of Mandos for all too long. The day of the trial is approaching, and now he's willing to do almost anything to convince his jailer of his change of heart. From then onwards, everything seems to go downhill for him, and upon returning to Angband, his relationship with Sauron will turn rather tense. SLASH.
1. Piercing

**This first chapter is set during Melkor's imprisonment in the halls of Mandos and shows the "behind-the-scenes" events.  
Rated M for (not entirely consensual) sex, some violence and disturbing stuff in general.  
****That being said, read and enjoy. I'd appreciate reviews a lot, or style suggestions (since I'm translating this from Spanish).**  


**DISCLAIMER: Tolkien owns both the characters and the story. I just own the kinky non-canon stuff.  
**

**Chapter 1. Piercing**

For nearly three ages Melkor had remained chained in the halls of Mandos.  
Three ages in which his only company had been the cold metal of Angainor around his neck, the hard flagstones of the wall stabbing at his backbone, and the dim light of the Trees that streamed into the prison, and formed a puddle of light before him.

For an eternity it was only that: The pool of light, sometimes of a golden glow, sometimes of a silvery sheen, sometimes of mixed brilliance. And the metal. And the stone. And his dark thoughts.  
Melkor now felt weak and wasted away. The chain not only held his body but also his powers, and with the passing of centuries it had drained him more, and more, and more.  
To the extent that Melkor wondered sometimes if there would be something left of the Ainur that he used to be, to judge at the end of the age, or if there was something left now.  
How much time had really passed inside the cell? A million years? A single everlasting day?  
His notion of time was blurred.

Anyway, for immortal beings time is just relative, and three ages is a bearable sentence when you have all the eternity to live.  
However, a disturbing thought had been upsetting him lately, during the long hours of solitude, and this was the following:  
What would happen if the day of the trial came and they found him guilty again? What reason had the Valar to consider him better now than he had been when they found him in Utumno?  
Melkor knew the bitter answer to this question: No reason, the Valar had no reason to believe that he had reformed himself.  
For the simple fact that sitting chained in prison proved nothing.  
Then they would condemn him again. And this time it would be forever.

"Forever". Melkor had to close his eyes tightly whenever this black thought flitted through his head, to drive it out of there.  
"Forever" was a sentence too long, even for a Vala. Especially for a Vala that had loved freedom, and chaos and lack of barriers as much as he had.  
Because of this, he had resolved to take action, do something, anything, to prevent that horrible "forever" from turning into reality.

Mandos came down to visit him once in a while, and although Melkor didn't know exactly in how much time, he knew that he came with regularity.  
But maybe "visit" was saying too much. Perhaps it would be more appropriate to say that he poked his head through the door, mostly to make sure that the prisoner had not yet disintegrated from boredom, and then turned to leave.  
In any case, that brief interlude was his only chance, and Melkor had a plan.  
A desperate, vile, and shameful plan, but a plan nonetheless. And he cursed Sauron often for not being in the cell with him, because Sauron always had ingenious ideas, and was a master of deception.

However, if Sauron could pave his way through seduction, He, Melkor, the Mighty Arising, the most powerful being of Arda, could do it much better.  
Because evil is seductive of necessity. It has to be if it wants to lure its followers and confound its enemies, for its true face is horrendous, and thus needs embellishment.

Very little beauty remained now in Melkor, indeed.  
His glory had faded, and his ability to change shape had been annulled by the power of Angainor.  
Still he kept intact his other qualities, and Mandos would verify it quite soon, because Melkor estimated that his next visit approached.  
And now he only had to wait, as he had been doing for centuries.

Thus, he waited.

When the cell door finally opened and the imposing figure of Mandos was outlined in the threshold, Melkor had to squint, since his eyes, accustomed to darkness, almost burnt every time he rested them on the bright Vala.

-I'm glad to see thou art still here. That means I'm a good host. -said the Judge, with a sarcastic solemnity that few knew in him.

Melkor smiled bitterly from the ground, where he remained huddled in attitude of defeat.

-I have understood that very few of thy guests leave thy house, and now I know why. It is such a welcoming place ... Why would I want to leave? Is there a more hospitable place in Arda than the blessed realms of Mandos, here in the confines of the world? Oh! Perhaps there is but ... I've been enclosed here for so long that I have forgotten everything that is on the outside.

The smile of Mandos became even more obvious upon hearing the sarcasm with which Melkor responded to his provocation.

-Well, Melkor, keep it optimistic for the remainder of the age. I'll come down to see thee again when it reaches the end.

Mandos was going to turn around to leave the prisoner alone again, when Melkor said something unprecedented. Something that Mandos had never before, in the whole eternity that his imprisonment had lasted, heard from his lips.

-Wait, Mandos, do not go yet. -the Vala turned stunned by the pleading tone of the petition.- Couldst thou loosen the chain around my neck a little? I cannot stand this torture any second longer.

There was desperation in the eyes of the prisoner (or that was what Melkor wanted to show) but Mandos stayed unmoved by his pleas:

-Thou art here to suffer punishment, Melkor. Not to be comfortable.

-Yes. But my punishment is confinement, not torture. I know thou art just, Mandos, and don't give in to compassion but ... art thou a sadist too? I thought I was the only one.

Mandos remained silent for a moment. There was much truth in the cunning words of the fallen Vala, he had to admit that.  
Yielding, not to compassion, but to logic, he crouched beside the prisoner to loosen a bit the metallic clasp of the chain. The wrists of Melkor were also chained to the wall by shackles, so his mobility was rather limited, but nonetheless, Mandos noticed an unusual movement in his body as he stood next to him, with the arms around his neck.  
And it was something much, much more unusual than the previous request of the evil Vala.  
Melkor had rested the head on his shoulder and had sucked in the perfume of his hair, while the lower half of his body approached him on purpose to make contact. Mandos felt a sigh of warm breath grazing his nape and the kiss of rough lips on the neck.  
Then he stood up, half confused and half angry:

-Why didst thou do that!? –he shouted, with a sign of disgust sticking to the corners of his mouth.

-Because I'm the loneliest creature of all Arda. -confessed Melkor lowering the eyes, not just to show humility, but also because the aura of Mandos had become even brighter because of his fury.

-Thou art the loneliest creature of all Arda, because thou art also the most repugnant. That is the reason of thy loneliness.

-Yes, but repugnant beings also need to be loved occasionally.

Mandos laughed, but in his marble face, chiseled with a perfection that was painful to look at, there was no trace of humor.

-From what I see, Melkor, so much time alone has allowed thee to devise the most ingenious jokes. Thou canst not love. Thou losest that virtue when thou becamest a dark lord and renouncedst the light and wisdom of Ilúvatar. Now tell me the truth. Why didst thou graze me? What art thou up to, what didst thou want to get with that?

Melkor felt the inquiring mind of Mandos trying to penetrate by force into his thoughts. He wanted to find out his plans, his innermost desires. But Melkor, despite the chaining, was still the strongest, and his mind was shielded from such violations.

-Nothing, Mandos, I was up to nothing. I just wanted to feel some warmth, a little contact with something that wasn't the slabs of this cell. It's true: I have lost the virtue of loving. But I still have the desire to be loved. That's why I built my own kingdom. That's why I surrounded myself with enslaved servants that worshipped and feared me. Because I wanted to be loved by everyone. But much time has passed since that, and I could think for countless years, and now I realize that neither worship nor servitude, nor fear, are real forms of love. Now what I want, what I crave most fervently, is to be like you, one of you. And to live here under the eternal light, under the wise guidance of Manwë, and be loved by my siblings the Valar, and perhaps, in due time, recover my lost virtue and be able to love you too. -Melkor paused, as if he doubted what he was going to say next, and then added in a whisper: -But above all I would like that thou, Mandos, lord of the dead, the most beautiful of all the Valar, deigned to love a being like me, fallen in disgrace. –and Melkor relaxed all his muscles, as if surrendering to the strain of the chains. As if surrendering to his guardian.

Mandos leaned over him and smiled in disbelief.  
The rebellious Vala was no more than a shadow of what he had been in the past. The pale and gaunt face, the sunken sockets like the ones of a skull, revealed the suffering of the spirit in a way all too eloquent. It was hard to believe that this was the same proud Melkor that they had found in Utumno.  
Mandos grabbed him harshly by the chin and forced him to look at his shining face. Comparing it to that of the prisoner, would be like comparing a star with a charred stick.

-Look at me, Melkor! Dost thou really think I'm the most beautiful Vala? Thou flatterst me without justice, certainly. And although I cannot prove it because thou hast locked thy thoughts with double key, I guess thou art not sincere. But so be it, let's suppose that thou art telling the truth and that, indeed, I am the most beautiful of the Valar. Tell me, why would I want to love someone so corrupted, so ugly, so mean and miserable like thou?

-Because by doing so, thou wilt turn my corruption into purity, my ugliness into beauty. And I will not be the Dark Lord anymore, I will not be evil or loathsome ever again. I will be thy faithful servant forever. I will put all my immense power at thy service and will transform thy realm in a place so beautiful and full of glory, that Elves will regret their immortality, for depriving them of seeing the wonders of thy halls. But this time I will not seek my personal exaltation. I will do it all for the greater glory of Eru...and for the greater glory of thee, Mandos. I'll do it all for thee ... Just for thee. -Melkor had narrowed his dark eyes and whispered with an hypnotic cadence, that poured through the ears like a sweet and almost tangible viscosity.

Mandos trailed with the hand down the neck of the rebellious Vala and pressed his throat slightly.

-Tell me, Melkor, is this what thou wantest? That I touch thee?

-Yes, Mandos, Lord of the Dead.

-Even if it was to hurt thee?

-Even then. But I know that my Lord Mandos will not hurt me, because he's just and won't mistreat a defenceless prisoner.

-Oh! But hast thou been defenceless ever, Melkor? I can hardly believe it. -Mandos arched his eyebrows with malice.- And I think that, in any case, thou couldst still be a little more defenceless, dost thou think not?

And with a flick of the wrist, Mandos suddenly unbuttoned the plain black robe that covered Melkor, completely revealing his nakedness.  
The rebellious Vala shivered with the cold wave that struck him all of a sudden, and looked stunned at his captor. That was not what he had expected, the cursed Vala had gone ahead of his plottings with this unforeseen action.  
In a way, the incident helped his plans somehow, but nevertheless, Melkor hated surprises, and the fact that Mandos had taken such liberty with him, made him hate the Vala even more.  
Now he stood upon him like an obnoxious column of light, lighting up his naked body without shame. And the bright eyes showed contempt.

-Is this what thou wantedst? Surrendering thy body in this shameful way, Melkor? -the aforementioned nodded with his eyes set on the floor.

-Yes, my body and my soul.

-And where is thy pride? Where is thy arrogance?

-They died during my confinement.

-And where has been left thy hatred and thy rejection of all that is bright, of all that follows the laws of Eru?

-Also died.

Mandos looked at him with suspicion. The body before him was completely different from those of the other Valar.  
He had seen his siblings the Valar taking naked forms many times, particularly Oromë and Yavanna, those Ainur who were closest to the telluric and animal realms. But the nakedness of these was pristine and clean, like that of a statue. They wore it above themselves as someone who wears a garment, without losing anything of their solemnity because of it.  
The nakedness of Melkor, however, was something physical, something that weighed and could be smelled, touched, felt ...  
When Mandos contemplated that skin, he knew he was seeing Melkor truly "naked", not seeing an outer cover that enveloped his spirit.  
What he had now in front of him was a whitish, almost gray body, consumed by captivity. The ribs accentuated each time he took air, and the nipples, erect because of the cold, went up and down to the beat of a heavy breathing. Veins showed through the skin here and there, throbbing full of dark and hot blood. They went swollen down the arms and neck, swirled around the nipples in small capillaries, disappeared and then reappeared in the lower abdomen, to get lost in the black hair that started to grow weakly under the navel and then darkened in the crotch. The most intimate parts were partially hidden between his legs, in a gesture of false modesty that had a lot of teasing to it.  
Mandos felt a strange nausea at the sight of the naked Vala. That body oozed a dark sexuality, almost animal-like.  
Its vulnerability seemed obscene to him.

-Thou art a pain to behold. –he said.- Why dost thou take such a vile form?

-To not forget what I am.

-What thou art ... A dark lord. And yet, art thou willing to let me, a Vala bathed in the undying light of the Trees, penetrate into thy body, possess thee?

Melkor did not respond with words to this. He just shut the eyes and slightly parted his legs.  
Mandos laughed then and the rebellious Vala opened his eyes in surprise.

-I sense a lot of lust in thee, Melkor, but no sign of true love. I'm sorry for thee. As I said before, I will visit thee when this age comes to its end. Until then, farewell.

Mandos turned around and was about to leave. Melkor's anger boiled so hard inside him because of such humiliation, that he had to make a huge effort to not reveal his true feelings of hatred when he said:

-Mandos, wait! Thou canst not leave me like this, uncovered. Dress me again at least.

The Vala shook his head, in a good mood.

-No, no. Better stay like that for a while. Perhaps the cold in the cell will appease a little that burning inside thee over the next decades. Then I'll see what I do with thee.

And the iron door slammed shut, again plunging the cell in the dim filtered light.  
Melkor would have liked to spit out such a horrible curse, that the walls of the hall of the dead collapsed right then and there. But if he wanted to get away with his plans, he had to be patient, and discreet.  
Thus he restrained himself. And waited.

He waited countless days. Countless years. Countless decades? Yes, it was possible that entire decades had passed. But nevertheless, Melkor waited patiently, numb with the cold of the cell and the death that reigned there, in a state of drowsiness, almost with all his senses in suspension.  
Only the flame of vengeance and anger was kept burning inside him.  
And finally, one day, the door opened again. But the age hadn't come to its end yet.  
The passing of time was ambiguous inside the cell, but still Melkor knew that the age couldn't have come to an end, it was impossible.  
Mandos returned before the agreed time, for the first time he advanced the moment of his visit, and Melkor knew it was due to what happened last time. There was concern in the mind of his jailer, and upon realizing it, an imperceptible smile spread across the lips of the rebellious Vala.

-My lord Mandos honors me with his presence too soon. What is it that troubles his mind, to what do I owe the pleasure of seeing his majesty again? –he whispered languidly.

Mandos did not answer. He watched him in silence, lost in deep thoughts, and followed with his eyes each flexion of the chained muscles that writhed before him, trying to ease the strain caused by the shackles.  
When Mandos crouched beside him, Melkor curled up instinctively, wounded by the light. And when the Vala laid a hand on him, it was as if a fiery knife had pierced his skin and had stuck into his very entrails.  
Melkor let out a sigh, that was in part of physical pleasure, and in great part of excruciating spiritual pain.  
But in front of Mandos he appeared willing. Always willing and eager, and the Vala wasn't able to read the pain in the dull eyes of the prisoner.

-I've been meditating, Melkor, and there is one thing I don't understand. Thou knowest more than me about this mystery.

Now the finger of Mandos moved indolent over the left nipple and stroked it with indifference. Melkor shuddered, and among the pain and disgust, a wave of lust swept through invisible channels from the nipple to his groin.

-Why canst thou feel what we, the other Valar, cannot? –continued Mandos, as if speaking to himself.- How didst thou achieve such a perfect union with the physical world, with the stuff of Arda itself? Thou art Arda. We are not. We "govern" over Arda, but we are not part of it. Why art thou?

-Because I never tried to govern it. Because I wanted it free and chaotic, and dark and formless, as is its real essence. Yes, it's true that I've wanted to rule the wills of many beings, it's true that I have enslaved countless lesser creatures, but on the earth, on Arda itself I never put chains. Thus, because I recognized how it was in reality, part of its essence infiltrated in me. Thus I have passions that ye will never have. -the last word was lost in a moan as Mandos squeezed the nipple with which his fingers were still toying.

Melkor closed his eyes and felt his breathing turning fast and panting. Shootings of hatred and pleasure roamed every inch of his skin, and those burning fingers were still torturing him, teasing him, sometimes with a light brush, sometimes with a pinch.  
Melkor made a sudden move with his right arm, as if trying to free it from the shackles, in a reflex to drive the Vala's hand away, or to touch himself, or both. Mandos reacted to the sudden jerk and left his reverie. He realized that the lower body of Melkor was trembling, and he had his legs spread, and his member had begun to swell and rose slightly.  
With the coldness of someone who examines a curious object, Mandos left the irritated nipple and continued his exploration down. Melkor felt a burning trail running down his stomach and navel, and sinking into his pubic hair.

-In a certain way ... it is also beautiful. This agony, this passion. –mused the Vala, stroking the pubis and drawing arabesques among the hair.

Melkor said nothing because shame and confusion wouldn't allow him anymore. And when the finger of Mandos went up his member following the course of a swollen vein, and upon reaching the tip, moved in circles over the surface until it became moist, he was actually glad about not being able to say anything. Because if he could, he would have shouted such a foul obscenity, that would have laid bare all the blackness that was still inside him, and his plans would have fallen down like a rotten tree.  
Mandos had noticed the intense effect that his touch had in that particular area, and stayed there for a while, beholding with fascination the changes that took place in the body of his victim. Melkor had his eyes closed and breathed heavily, no longer trying to hide the moans or the slight movement of his hips. All he wanted was that it ended as soon as possible, that the tension disappeared once and for all, be it as it may be, although he wasn't sure of what would happen next.  
But the hand of the Vala abandoned his member and continued down his body.  
For Mandos all of that was indifferent, a simple examination to satisfy an existential question. He didn't care about his prisoner reaching climax, not even about him enjoying himself.

However, when Melkor felt the intruder reaching still lower and stroking him around his cavity, threatening to cross the entrance, he knew the time had come: whatever Mandos did once inside, his body would yield at last , and torture would end, and that burning light would depart to leave him alone again with the darkness and his thoughts.  
Melkor bit his lower lip, closed his eyes tightly, and waited for the desired moment of release.  
But it never came.  
Mandos had got bored already, or something urgent claimed his attention. With complete calm he stood up and left the prisoner writhing in agony, with nothing but cold air to touch his skin.

-Such a strange phenomenon, to be capable of subduing the Dark Lord with something as simple as a few strokes. Look at thee Melkor, mightiest of the Valar: suffocating in gasps, barely able to speak. Maybe we made a mistake dragging thee out of Utumno through force and chains, it would have been easier to defeat thee like this -Mandos let out a laugh that echoed in the four walls of the cell and pulled Melkor out of his bewilderment. This was undoubtedly the most humiliating, most hateful and most degrading moment of his existence, since the music of the Ainur shaped the world.- Certainly, Melkor, I will not deny that I feel some curiosity, even some jealousy, because of thy ability to experience these feelings, because of thy intimate union with the physical world. -continued the Judge- But I also pity thee because of it. Tell me, what dost thou feel now, abandoned like this before due time? Anger, frustration, anguish? -Mandos stared at him slyly, trying to peer inside Melkor for something, any trace of evil, that would betray him.

-Gratitude. -said the rebellious Vala.

Mandos raised his eyebrows in surprise, and smiled amused.

-How is it gratitude? Explain thyself.

-Gratitude because my lord Mandos, the beautiful Vala, has deigned to caress me and bathe me in his exquisite light.

This time the laughter of Mandos could have reached the ears of the dead, if they were still able to hear.

-Truly, Melkor, if thou ever get out of here, I will miss thee. Thy hypocrisy is incredibly amusing.

-I'm not lying, everything I say is true. If ye give me a chance, I will show you how much I've changed -replied the prisoner, sounding hurt.

-We're giving thee a chance now, Melkor. Thy confinement here is a chance, do not forget it. If we didn't want to give it to thee, Tulkas would have crushed thy skull a long time ago, back there in the depths of Utumno.

Saying this, Mandos crouched next to him one last time, covered him again with the robe, since in all fairness the prisoner's humiliation had been already more than enough, and disappeared through the door.

During the years that followed, Melkor dozed. And for the first time he dreamed.  
He dreamed about the black pits of Utumno, about screams mixed in sulfur smoke that ascended as heavenly music to his iron throne. He dreamed about creatures emerging from mud and viscosity, creatures older than time, and hammers beating on red-hot bars, and red-hot bars beating on bones.  
But among these encouraging dreams, disturbing nightmares mingled on occasion, and then he felt again burning fingers scorching his skin, invasive hands trying to pierce him. Then he woke up upset and feeling slightly aroused.  
And all he heard was a beat in his chest, and all he saw was the dim filtered light of the Trees, always identical to itself, always obnoxiously still.

Mandos visited him seven more times, and in all those times the same episode repeated.  
The Vala touched him dispassionately, and then left him just before reaching the peak.  
And on the first six occasions he asked the same question before disappearing: "What dost thou feel now, Melkor?"  
And on the six occasions Melkor answered the same thing: "Gratitude."  
Melkor knew that, with these experiments, the Vala was testing his patience and humility. But there was something else, something that Mandos tried to conceal by all means, but that nevertheless Melkor managed to extract from his mind:  
Mandos had begun to feel "fascination" about all of that.  
As lord of the dead, always surrounded by disembodied souls, he, more than any other Vala, found himself apart of the physical world. And although he knew many things of the world present and yet to come, he had experienced firsthand very few of them, and now he tried to achieve this knowledge through the enemy.  
Melkor was greatly pleased seeing him so upset for this reason.

On the seventh visit, however, there was a novelty. Mandos didn't ask him what did he feel, but what did he want, and he said it with a much sweeter voice than what was usual, not with that marble voice with which he gave orders.

"I want to hang thee by the wrists over the hottest fire pit of Angband while the Balrogs whip off thy skin and the werewolves eat thy eyes and tongue." –said Melkor to himself, reveling in the vision.

-I want a kiss from my lord Mandos, the most beautiful of the Valar. -said Melkor outwards, imitating the sweetness of his captor.

The aforementioned shook his head and smiled slightly.

-No, that I won't give thee. –he answered, but instead stroked his cheek with something that (Melkor supposed) must have been tenderness.- However, I can give thee some good news. I talked to Manwë about thee, and in a favourable way. –Melkor's interest heightened fully upon hearing this. The hand of the Vala was stroking his face, and he wished him to stop the hell out.- I have explained him the change that thou hast suffered during this last age. How thou hast become submissive and loyal, how thy anger has been soothed and thy pride has been humbled. And how thou hast given thyself to me and let me touch thy nakedness without resisting or complaining. Quite on the contrary: with great pleasure on thy part.

Melkor felt a violent shock upon hearing this last sentence, and something like a ball of fury growing inside him, and threatening to explode if he was not careful. And all the meanwhile Mandos continued stroking him. Why didn't he stop once and for all?

-Thou meanst that thou hast told Manwë, my BROTHER Manwë, about the things thou dost to me when I'm naked? –definitely, the hottest pit of Angband wasn't going to be enough to punish such an insult.

-Yes, of course. Does it matter? The Valar have no secrets for each other. That's something thou wilt have to learn if thou wantest to live among us, Melkor.

"And not humiliating Melkor is what thou wilt have to learn if thou wantest to LIVE" - thought the rebellious Vala. Actually, he didn't know if it was possible to kill an Ainu. Probably not. But he certainly would enjoy a lot trying to test it.  
Anyway, the important thing now was that Mandos had been deceived, that he had been seduced, and had convinced Manwë about his repentance and kindness. He was a step closer to release ... and to the revenge that would come next.

-I'm leaving now, Melkor. The next time I come to visit thee will be the last, since the age comes to its end. -and he closed the door, and back came the darkness and the long period of isolation.

This time Melkor sunk into intermittent dreams, and he liked none of them.  
He tried by all means to recreate in his mind comforting scenes of flaming whips and tortured Elves, but failed, and ended up cursing Irmo and swearing revenge against him too, if that was the product of one of his charms.  
Among all those bad dreams that he had, one in particular irritated him:  
He was chained in the cell, as always, and a dark figure began to materialize at the point where the light of the trees formed a bright puddle on the floor. The shape grew into a huge black bat, who managed to free him through some magical means and carried him far away, to the mouth of a volcano. There the bat, still holding him, regained its true form. And suddenly, Melkor found himself in the arms of his lieutenant Sauron, but a gigantic Sauron, and much stronger and mightier than he. And this Sauron leant insolent over his face, and dared to kiss him in an obscene way.  
Fortunately, the dream ended there, as Melkor awoke very angry. He resolved that, when he returned to Angband, Sauron should also pay somehow for invading his mind with those absurd visions. The mere idea that his lieutenant could become one day more powerful than him, was enough to offend anyone's intelligence.  
"As if that treacherous coward would come to my rescue, anyway" - he thought bitterly.

After that, the next thing that Melkor remembered was much like one of his nightmares, but misfortune would have it, that it was not.  
What shook him out of his lethargy was the noise of the shackles hitting against each other and the squealing of chains while they slid through rings, freeing him of the strain to which he had been subjected for three ages.  
He was still chained, of course, but now the chains had sufficient length to allow him to move the arms and lie down. Only now had he become aware of the biting pain in his wrists.  
And he resolved that, when he came out of there, he would have to hang someone by the wrist definitely, and over a cliff if possible, so he knew what it was like. Maybe one of those stinky and useless Elves ...  
However, the joy of Melkor upon seeing himself like that, freed in part, didn't last long. Some hands, that he knew all too well, made him lie on the stone floor. And the next thing he felt was a hard body, bright, burning, and yet cold as marble, pressed against his back, and two arms around him, holding him even stronger than the chains.

-Greetings, Melkor. As promised, I'm back at the end of the age. This is our last meeting. –whispered a familiar voice in his ear. A familiar voice that used to sound stern and ruthless, but that this time took on a very different tone: a velvety tone, almost ... seductive.

Melkor felt his stomach turning when moist lips kissed him on the neck, while impudent hands stripped him of his clothes. The other body was naked as well, if you could say it that way: it was like a living flame drilling into his spine and burning his marrow. And as usual, the touch produced in Melkor a mixture of lascivious pleasure and horrible pain.  
A shiver ran down his spine, but he didn't even think about complaining.  
Thus he didn't complain when Mandos explored him shamelessly from up to down, nor did he complain when he kissed his neck and shoulder leaving invisible marks of abrasion on his way, nor did he complain when he run his fingers through his hair.  
Only when he felt the tip of the hardened member pressing against his entrance, threatening to invade him, Melkor stirred horrified.

-Mandos, no! –he shouted among struggles- I never, I've never ... Let me go!

This couldn't happen to him. The most powerful of the Valar, no!, the most powerful being of ALL Arda, couldn't be so vulnerable, couldn't be taken by force that way, without even defending himself.  
Then Melkor conceived an immense hatred, but also a great fear. Not fear of the physical act itself, that was irrelevant. But fear of being invaded by the enemy spirit, fear of the darkness inside him being devoured, consumed and raped by that cursed light.

-Oh, Melkor! Why dost thou resist? Isn't this what thou wert seeking? -said Mandos as he soothed him with a caress.- Relax and do not be afraid, I don't want to hurt thee. I'm not a sadist, remember?

And maybe he wasn't a sadist, in the strictest sense of the word, but it was true that he had no compassion, and Melkor realized this when he felt him entering into his body.  
Then a strange paralysis seized him and he stopped struggling, and stayed passive and submissive against all that would come after.  
It was too big, and too deep, and the essence of the Vala was too opposed to his and it burned like acid. A mortal pain rose from the base of his spine and infiltrated into every atom of his being, reaching even that essential core that existed already before he took on a body, when he was in the Void with Eru.  
But his physical body, on the other hand, replicated that pain, and transformed it into the most exquisite pleasure that Melkor had ever experienced, as if pleasure and pain mirrored each other in an exact but opposite way, as if they were the two sides of a coin, separated only by a very thin edge. And he was the more tormented, the more he understood the connection between the two things.  
A lustful moan escaped his mouth in a moment of weakness, and Mandos responded by stepping up the pace, causing him another wave of that mixture of feelings that had no name. The arms of the Judge of the Dead pressed against his ribs, and while one hand stroked his nipple, the other slid down his navel and began to please him as he had done so often before.  
Melkor was confused by the multiplicity of stimuli, each coming from a different point in his body, until he was unsure to which of the sensations paying attention: the wet kisses in the neck, or the pinching in the nipple, or the hand sliding along his member, or the foreign presence that went inside and outside of him with increasing violence.  
He gasped for air, vertigo seized him, and at that moment his whole being dissolved in the middle of a spasm that, he was sure, would annihilate completely the body which he had until now.  
With his eyes closed, he convinced himself that, upon opening them, he would discover that he had turned again into a flaming and formless spirit, and he would be free at last from chains and the embrace of Mandos.  
But no.  
When he opened his eyes, he found himself still on the cold stone floor and Angainor still around his neck. However, Mandos loosened his grip and separated from him.  
With a firm hand he turned him on his side and left him lying on his back. Melkor's chest went up and down, heaved with pants, but the calm slowly returned to him. A pitiful weakness had seized his members, and then it occurred to him that perhaps the obnoxious Vala had tried to rob him of his powers by doing this, jealous of his obvious superiority.  
Mandos watched him closer now, absolutely serene, without a trace of pleasure or passion across the lines of his stony face.  
Of course, Mandos could not enjoy himself (or suffer) the same way that he could. Which left a question in the air:

-Why hast thou done this to me, Mandos? -the question came from the lips of Melkor as a murmur. His eyelids felt terribly heavy, and he feared sinking again into lethargy and not waking up anymore. Mandos smiled with irony:

-How is it, Melkor? Dost thou reproach me? Thou wantedst to be taken by me, isn't it? And that's what I did. Do not pretend that thou hast not enjoyed it because thou wert betrayed by thy moans.

-The fact that I'm able to enjoy that way does not mean that I want to. The fact that I thought at first that I wanted to be taken by thee, does not mean that I liked it when it really happened.

-Oh, such bitterness, such lack of gratitude! Is that the way to receive my gift?

-Gift? Could it be that thou hast done this out of ... "compassion"? -the word made his mouth twist into a grimace of disgust. Mandos let out a laugh that echoed in the head of Melkor with a clang.

-Compassion? No, no, Melkor! I'm only allowed to show compassion once during all the time that has been granted to Eä, and I certainly don't reserve it for thee.

-Then what? Didst thou this to humiliate me, to torture me, to punish me? –Melkor's resentment was evident, and Mandos stroked his cheek with mocking paternalism.

-Oh, Melkor! Dost thou know what thy problem is? Thou art always angered, whatever happens. If I were in thy place, I would not complain so much, and would treasure this moment as one of the most valuable. Because, thou knowest what, Melkor?, I have seen the future, and I know a day will come when thou wilt be thrown into a place much emptier, much colder and much more lonely than the house of the dead. There thou wilt have the company of nobody and nothing, neither will be a jailer, nor chains, not even a cell. And who knows? It is possible that over the endless ages thou wilt end up missing me, and longing for this moment, and desiring with all the intensity of thy soul my caresses, my company, or that of any other. And none of that thou wilt have.

The finger of Mandos ran down his jaw line and stopped on the bruised dry lips, as if condemning him. A spark of unrest danced in the black eyes of Melkor.

-No, Mandos, thou art wrong. That cannot be true. Thou knowest that I've changed, and that Manwë will forgive me. Why would the Valar banish me to such a horrible place then? No, I will live with you in Valinor, in peace and until Eru summons us again to play the last music. Thus will it happen.

-Do not speak of Eru, because I know his intentions better than thou. And I know perfectly well that thou hast not changed, Melkor, that thou art the same, with the same black heart. I knew it from the beginning, so please put an end to this farce once and for all.

In that moment, the spark of unrest that had peered through the eyes of Melkor, dull until now, burst into a blaze of anger more intense than those of the ovens of Angband. And all the evil he had hidden inside him for three ages suddenly surfaced, and the cell was darkened, and the filtered light of the Trees trembled on the floor in fear.

-Art thou telling me, Mandos, that all this time thou hast known that I was pretending, that I didn't desire thee at all ... and yet thou continuedst the farce!? –he roared, and pulled the chains in an attempt to rip them out of the wall, with renewed strenght- Why, why didst thou do that!? Why didst thou not ignore my proposals without further ado, why didst thou let me humiliate myself so, why hast thou touched me, why hast thou pierced me, if thou knewest that I hated it, that it was all a lie?

Mandos stood up, dressed again in his black robe, and looked scornful at the prisoner that, hurt and naked, hurled darkness with every raging word that came from his mouth.

-It is not in my power to use the knowledge of the future to change events, Melkor. That's why I went along with thee, that's why I talked to Manwë in thy favour. Because that was what had to happen. But besides that, I guess I did it for other reasons as well. Living surrounded by death makes one develop a strange sense of humor. And besides, I was bored. And besides, I don't appreciate thee, Melkor, and I don't like thee. Does that answer thy question?

There was no curse, in any language of Arda, which could express what Melkor felt at that moment. Therefore, he gritted his teeth and said nothing.

-Do not put such a long face, Melkor, and rejoice. Tomorrow thou wilt be free.

And with that, Mandos leaned over him, and as the final violation, as the WORST of all, he pressed his mouth against the lips of Melkor and forced him into a kiss.  
Then he went to the door and opened it to leave for the last time.

-Mandos! –shouted Melkor before he disappeared through the doorway. The Judge turned around and saw the burning hell inside the pupils of the fallen Vala.- I assure thee that before the next age comes to its end, I will have sent to thy halls so many souls of all the races that have been and will be, that thou wilt not have enough room to receive them all, not even if thou extendedst thy house over the whole surface of this foul land!

Mandos responded to this with a nod, and then left, slamming the door.  
And Melkor was left in the dark, waiting for the great trial that would be held the next day.


	2. Poisoning

**This chapter follows closely what it's told in the Silmarillion, though told from Melkor's perspective.  
I took some liberties, still, for example with Ungoliant's speech pattern.  
No slash in this one, unless you count Melkor/The Silmarils (well, that's not slash, it's canon! XD)  
Warnings: some violence, and lots of Ungoliant squick.**

**Chapter 2. Poisoning  
**

The great day finally arrived. And Melkor begged the Valar for mercy, lying face down in front of the Ring of Doom.  
The Valar looked upon the fallen brother from their high thrones, and when they saw him so humbled, so repentant, and reduced to such a little thing, compassion stirred inside most of them, and Manwë granted him forgiveness.  
Melkor then lifted his head from the ground and met their gaze.  
Varda was smiling, with the light of the stars twinkling in her eyes. And Yavanna radiated maternal affection. And Nienna wept tears of joy.  
Only Tulkas watched him grimly. And Mandos remained serious and silent.  
Though Melkor noticed a slight sarcastic smile on his lips, yes, a malicious grin that went unnoticed by the others, but whose meaning he knew all too well.  
For a moment he relived that pain that climbed from the base of his spine, and quickly averted his gaze from the Judge.

The joyful faces of the other Valar didn't please him much more, anyway.  
False, false all of them, without exception.  
Now that he was sunk, now that he was nobody, now that he was the most miserable of all beings, now they loved him.  
Why didn't they love him when he was Melkor, the Mighty Arising, when he was free to do and undo at his will, when he could still express himself through his powers as befits a god, in short, when he was HIMSELF?  
Because they didn't love Melkor, no, they just loved the "shadow" of Melkor.  
There they stood, smiling like fools, and Melkor couldn't stop thinking about the revenge that he would take upon each one of them.  
Manwë he would bury underground, where not even the slightest gust of air could reach him.  
Varda he would hang off Valacirca, that sickle that she had placed over him in the sky as a threat.  
Yavanna he would dry up in some hole without water and Oromë he would throw to the wolves.  
Tulkas he would simply break the head with his mace, Grond, since it wasn't worth devising a more sophisticated punishment for a brute like that.  
He felt some respect for Aulë, if just because he had dared to do something for himself, creating the dwarves behind Eru's back.  
Yes, Aulë would be the last to suffer, but not because of that would he be less cruel to him.  
As for Mandos ... well, he'd rather not remember Mandos.

Melkor was so distracted by these thoughts, that he didn't realize that Manwë had descended from his throne and approached him.  
A mighty hand stroked his hair and he heard the voice of the king of the Valar saying softly:

-Stand up, brother. Thou art one of us again, and I don't want to see thee humiliated for a second longer.

Melkor accepted the hand that Manwë offered him and stood up.  
The light shone in the face of the Vala, and his hair and long blonde beard reflected it in a myriad of golden sparkles.  
Everything in his brother's expression was nobility, and clarity, and goodness, and it made Melkor's stomach turn.  
Especially when he looked at himself and realized how weak and pale was in comparison with him, after so many centuries of suffering.  
Manwë, however, was unable to perceive his envy, and embraced the wayward brother so hard, that Melkor feared that he'd break him a rib.

- Oh, dear brother! I've waited for this moment almost since the beginning of time, when thou defiedst the harmony of the music, and I knew that thou wouldst not participate with us in the formation of Arda. I regretted it dearly, back then, thinking that thy great powers would be lost forever in works of destruction, and Arda would never benefit from them. A great loss for the world, and for me, that always missed thee. But now the dark times are over, and together we will create such wonders on earth, that it will be as if there was never any dissent. And Arda will shine more beautiful than ever, and the Children of Eru will finally have the home they deserve: without darkness, without monstrous beings that threaten them, without death. -Manwë squeezed him even harder, and then he noticed the marked bones through the fabric.- But what is this? I see that confinement has been hard for thee, brother. Thou art nothing but skin and bones, it's terrible. But do not worry, thou wilt soon have a new body, strong, noble and beautiful as ours. And new clothes to replace those gloomy black garments that thou wearst now. My brother shouldn't look like a specter, or a dark lord. Thou art now prince among the Valar.

And Manwë gave him a fraternal kiss on the cheek.  
Melkor was grateful when he released him, so he could breathe again.  
"Prince among the Valar" thought with contempt. Not king, but prince. And who would want to be a prince, when even the king is a slave to Eru and fate?  
It was a pathetic promise, really.  
He tried not to linger much longer in the Ring of Doom and lose sight of the other Valar as soon as possible. But they were determined to take turns to embrace him and express their dumb joy, so he had to wait a bit.  
Tulkas didn't want to hug him, and merely shook his hand with a little more force than was necessary, still frowning.  
Finally, the Valar started leaving the Ring of Doom and returned to their respective houses.  
Only Mandos stayed in front of him, a tall, silent figure, dressed in black.

- What happens Mandos, art thou not going to embrace Manwë's brother? – shouted Melkor with scorn- Oh, I know! Thou only likest to embrace me when I'm like this. - and saying that, he tore his robe and let it fall to the ground. The light of the Trees fell upon the naked body, and coloured its whiteness with silver and golden glimmers. - Come, come over here and make me thine again, in front of everybody, with the Trees as witnesses! Or hast thou lost interest after ravishing me? Is that so? I warn thee that this is thy last chance to possess me! - and Melkor spread his arms in defiance.

Mandos observed him for a moment, there, alone on the grass, completely exposed to his gaze, and the fallen Vala seemed very fragile to him, deceptively fragile.

-No matter what Manwë says. Thou shouldst keep this form forever, Melkor. In a strange way, it's beautiful. – smiled the Judge, calmly and without moving from his place.

The eyes of Melkor let out a glint of disdain.

-All right, thou hast decided so, Mandos. Thou missed thy chance. - and saying that, the rebellious Vala disembodied, and disappeared into a gray cloud, leaving behind the last silvery fragments from Telperion.

For a long time, Melkor was forced to stay in Valmar, under some supervision, and wandered aimlessly and uninterested within its walls.  
Life was boring for him, but the time to set things in motion hadn't arrived yet.  
He hadn't even conceived a concrete plan for revenge, nor had he regained all his powers, so he had no choice but to wander to and fro.  
The Elves provided him some amusement, and he used to meddle in their conversations, faking kindness and willingness to help.  
He especially liked spying on them while disembodied, so they couldn't see him,  
and intervene all of a sudden in the most inappropriate moment to cause them a good start.  
These harmless mischiefs gave him some pleasure, and they were the only evil that was allowed to him, anyway.  
He almost never took a physical form now, having developed a rejection towards bodies since his experience in the halls of Mandos.  
He didn't want to have arms and legs to wear shackles, or a neck around which a chain could be put, or blood that may be spilled, or skin that may be stroked.  
And he didn't want to feel ever again that ecstasy that had left him so weak and exhausted.  
No, those things had made him vulnerable in the past, but he wouldn't make the same mistake.  
Upon returning to Angband he would adopt the most monstrous and terrifying form that was ever seen, but it would be a form made of ice, and stone, and fire, and shadow. Never again made of bones, and flesh, and skin, never.

Thus Melkor spent his days walking through Valmar, and later through the whole land of Aman, with no body or company.  
Manwë turned a bit sad when he saw that erratic behaviour. He felt that his brother hadn't adapted to his new life yet, and had a conversation with him about this a couple of times.  
He asked him why he was always naked and disembodied, and explained that this wasn't good, that he scared the Children of Eru because they could not see him, and that it was shameful.

-I don't find it shameful, brother -replied Melkor- And I don't feel naked without a body. I've been much more naked in the past, and I know how it feels, believe me. I know how it feels to be completely and absolutely uncovered, in a way that ye will never understand.

Manwë lowered his eyes, upset.

-I understand. Mandos told me everything, what happened between you two. And I notice that this love has left deep wounds in thee. But thou hast to forget him, Melkor. Mandos has a wife already, and I advise thee to find one as well. Some company will help thee greatly to heal those old wounds. Or maybe thou wantest not a wife. Maybe thou preferst a husband. It's not common, indeed, usually the male spirits seek female spirits that temper their violence a little. It's a matter of balance. But nonetheless, if that's what thou wantest, I see no reason to oppose it. I know that thou wert always different from the rest ...

Melkor was glad of not having cheeks at the moment, so Manwë couldn't see them blushing from wrath and shame.

-Regarding that matter, dear brother, thou canst consider me a loner henceforth, as Ulmo. - replied, with ill-concealed irritation.

After that, Manwë decided to leave him alone, in the belief that Melkor would eventually put his existence back on track.

And indeed, he put it back on track. Because after long days of boredom, Melkor finally found something that brought back the meaning to his life, something that from that moment onwards, occupied his thoughts all the time.  
He saw it during a festivity day, as he slipped unnoticed through the streets of Tirion: A tall Elf, with black hair and fierce gray eyes.  
The eldest son of the king of the Noldor, as he understood.  
He walked with an air of grandeur that didn't hide his disdain for everything around him, and his eyes betrayed a boundless pride that pleased Melkor greatly.  
Yes, those were beautiful eyes. Especially, because just above them glittered the objects that had aroused the passion of Melkor.  
Three gems, big as fists, that enclosed the light of the Trees and returned it in infinite fractals. That pulverized the light into atoms so small, that they drove directly into the soul of the one that beheld them.  
And there was more. There was a living flame that stirred within the crystals, yes, a piece of the spirit of fire that had created them, with all his pride, and his passion, and his love, and his genius. Whoever possessed those gems, would not only possess the most beautiful thing that the Valar had created, but also the greatest thing of the noblest of the Children of Ilúvatar: his soul.  
Upon realizing this, Melkor desired the stones with violence, with despair, almost with ... lust.  
Yes, it was the same feeling that he had the first time that Mandos touched him and left him abandoned just before climax.  
But multiplied a thousand times.  
Multiplied by each of the faces in which the gemstones were cut.  
Multiplied by each of the light beams that they radiated.  
Melkor was thankful again for not having a body at that time. Because if he had, the desire that enraptured him would have been more than obvious to everyone who passed by.

From that day on, he couldn't get the Silmarils out of his head. He saw them all the time before him, shining seductively,  
arousing a craving inside him that he wouldn't satisfy until he made them his own.  
The idea of taking them to Angband, where nobody would see them again, and the hard blow that this would deal to the Valar and the Children of Eru,  
did nothing but stir up the flame of desire further.  
Yes, it was a perfect plan. He would satisfy his lust, while taking revenge upon his enemies.

During that time, Melkor began spying and following Fëanor and his Silmarils wherever he went.  
And for this he adopted a body. A nicer body than the one he had previously, not very different from that of an Elf, but with an unmistakable touch of malice.  
He wanted Fëanor to know that he was following him,  
and he wanted him to know it was him, Melkor, the one who was following him,  
and moreover, he wanted Fëanor to know that he, Melkor, did it on purpose for him to know.  
And this was because Melkor enjoyed deeply every time he saw the concern in the gray eyes of the Elf, when he turned around to see who was spying him from the nearby woods.  
But Melkor didn't know how to grab the gems that tormented him so much. He couldn't kill Fëanor and snatch them in broad daylight. And he couldn't break into his house to steal them. It wasn't wise to declare open war on the Valar yet, and for the moment, he should continue with the pretence.

Thus, since he couldn't approach the Elf openly, he decided to separate him from the Valar and draw him to his side through more discrete ways.  
He began to spread false rumors among the Children of Eru, and especially among the Noldor, whose obstinacy and arrogance were more useful for his plans.  
He spread the word about the arrival of the Second-born, about how they would dominate Middle Earth without being accountable to anyone, while the naive Eldar remained slaves for the Valar.  
And he spread the word about the ambitions of Fëanor's brothers, and how they planned to remove him from the line of succession.  
He was convinced that these rumors would reach eventually the ears of the great goldsmith of the Noldor.  
And then it wouldn't be necessary to pursue him anymore; the Elf himself would seek after him, and would travel with him to Middle Earth, near Angband, near his dominions, and there, out of the sight of the Valar, he would get rid of him and the Silmarils would finally fall into his hands.  
Melkor shuddered with pleasure at the simple thought.

However, the great Fëanor, though very skilled in the artistic field, turned out to be very stupid with diplomatic issues, and couldn't think anything better than threatening his brother Fingolfin in front of everybody.  
Then, as expected, the Valar meddled in the subject and interrogated him, and all the intrigues of Melkor came to light.  
This time Melkor was far-sighted, and before Tulkas had finished cursing him and proclaiming all the nasty things that he would do when he caught him, he had already disappeared from Valinor, and had hidden in the deepest cave in the furthest mountain that he found.  
There he remained, frightened, for many days.  
His initial plan had failed, and actually, it would have been easier to kill Fëanor without further ado.  
After all, the result would have been the same.  
The only thing that gave him solace now was thinking about the perplexed and disappointed faces of the other Valar, who had believed in his kindness.  
And above all, that of his brother Manwë.  
Melkor couldn't help but laugh, imagining the scene.

His love for the Silmarils, however, had gone too deep. And with each passing day, the need of seeing them grew and grew inside him.  
Thus, one day he forgot all caution and came out of his hiding, even running the risk of Tulkas' wrath.  
An irrational desire had taken possession of his will, and led him to the gates of Formenos, where Fëanor was exiled after the fight with his brother.  
Melkor knew it was insane, but before he could reflect on it, he was already facing the house of the Noldo and knocking on his door.  
"I just hope that he meets me with the Silmarils upon his forehead" he thought as he waited impatiently.  
Melkor was already fearing that the Elf wasn't at home, and planned to pull the building down in a fit of anger, when the door opened slightly, and two suspicious gray eyes shone through the gap.

- Thou! - exclaimed the Elf upon seeing him. And he opened the door wide, trembling with fury. - What art thou doing here!? Can't I have a moment of respite without thou importuning me with thy presence? Dost thou never get tired of stalking me, or what!?

Melkor bit his lip. No, he wasn't wearing the Silmarils. But the next moment he took on his most charming expression, and with a sweet tone replied:

- What can I say about it, my dear Fëanor? I've fallen in love.

Fëanor's eyes opened wide at this, and a flame of indignation danced in his eyes.

- What!? And thou sayst that to a married man with seven sons? Definitely, the Valar have neither shame nor morals.

-I have no shame, indeed. Why should I have it? I am the most powerful being of Arda, I am a God, perfect in every way. There is nothing in me that causes me shame. With respect to morals, I don't know what is that. It must be something that ye Elves invented, because I never heard anything about morals in the music of the Ainur.- Melkor leaned indolent on the door frame, invading the personal space of the Elf, and began to play with the brooch that closed his cape.  
Fëanor pushed his hand away, offended.

-Don't even get close to me. The mere thought of what thou art proposing disgusts me enough. The last thing I want is thy hand on me.

Melkor smirked.

-I may have a black heart, my dear Fëanor, but thou hast just broken it.

-Sure I have... –snapped the Elf with sarcasm. Then Melkor grabbed his hand suddenly, and the ironic expression of the Noldo became one of shock ... and a slight fear.

-Dost thou despise a God, Fëanor? That is a lot of pride, even for the son of a king, isn't it? But do not worry, I like the proud ones ... -Melkor bent over him, until his mouth was left mere inches from his ear, and Fëanor felt a warm breath caressing him while the Vala whispered:- Come with me to Middle Earth . Here thou art nothing but a petty prince, in a petty kingdom, under the petty yoke of the Valar. But there thou wilt be king of kings, with me. I will give thee everything thou hast always wanted. Power. Knowledge. Unlimited resources. The most beautiful jewels and the richest garments to adorn the most beautiful of the Eldar. And beneath the starry sky, during the endless night, I'll give to thee pleasures that thou canst not even imagine. Immortality is very long, but if thou spendst it with me thou wilt not regret it... My precious Fëanor.- Melkor's voice trembled with desire, and still holding him, he began to stroke his neck gently. Fëanor was terrified and tried to escape in vain.- No, no, my spirit of fire, don't be afraid. I just want to help thee, I just want to broaden thy horizons, show thee the endless possibilities that exist for thee away from the walls of this narrow land. A being with thy skills, with thy incredible genius, should not wither here unnoticed. Consider what I offer thee: an immense power and the love of a God. Art thou going to reject it? Art thou going to reject ME? No, the son of Finwe can't be so stupid. And besides, thy Silmarils are not safe here, with the greedy Valar. Thou knowest it.

However, upon pronouncing the name of the Silmarils, Melkor couldn't hide the flame of lust bursting in his eyes, and Fëanor noticed this at once.  
With a sudden movement, he escaped from the hands of Melkor and stood before him, furious:

- So that's it! I should have known. It was all about my Silmarils, and it's them what thou wantest, not me!

Melkor laughed.

- Oh, dear Fëanor! Anyone would say thou art disappointed. Hadst thou built up hopes with me already?

-No, I had not. But thou wilt be hopeless for sure when I tell thee that never, I repeat, NEVER, wilt thou have my Silmarils. They are mine forever, and thou wilt never convince me of giving them to thee. And don't try to seduce me again. Maybe that trick worked with Mandos, but it won't work with me. So I invite thee to go back to his prison and become his mistress there, if thou wantest it so bad. But don't come to my house ever again! - and saying this, the Elf slammed the door at his face.

Melkor was puzzled for a few seconds. Was it possible, really possible, that this infectious Elf, this lesser creature, had despised him: Melkor, the Mighty Arising?  
A black whirlwind of feelings, a mixture of anger, and embarrasment, and hatred, and confusion, flared up in him at that moment, and unable to endure it anymore, he burst into a dark and terrifying cloud and escaped from there at full speed.  
Why happened this to him? Since the Valar had imprisoned him, everything had gone awry. He had been humiliated once, and again, and again, and wondered if fate reserved yet another humiliation for him.  
The situation was unbearable, and he had to do something right now, at that moment, something big, something terrible, something that plunged that cursed land in shadows forever. Yes, that was a great idea, and the more he reflected on it, the more it seduced him. The Trees. He would take revenge upon all the Valar and all the Children of Eru in one go, through the Trees.  
It was a perfect plan: simple, fast, effective.  
And besides, weren't also the Trees guilty for his misfortune?  
They had been silent witnesses of his imprisonment.  
For three ages, their light had filtered inside the prison to mock him.  
And they had seen him in all his vulnerability, while Mandos abused him.  
But that light wouldn't see anything again, and no one would see that light again, no.

About all these things thought Melkor while fleeing from Formenos and crossing the Calacirya, towards the bay of Eldamar, and while passing by the city of the sea Elves, those Teleri that he despised so much and that were scared by the shadows that he left on his way .  
Lost in the frenzy of revenge, he barely noticed the course he had taken, and when he recovered the calm, he found himself alone in the middle of the arid lands of the North, between the mountains and the sea.  
No, that was not the place he wanted to go to.  
Actually, his destination was in the South, in the region called Avathar, a region even more somber and desert than the Northlands.  
There lived someone who owed him a favor.  
And now he was going to claim it.

When he arrived at the entrance of the cave, the foul smell and thick darkness that emanated from the opening, so thick that it seemed solid, horrified even him.  
There was no doubt that this was the place, because no other being in Arda would be able to produce a substance as abominable as that.

-Ungoliant! – he shouted –Come forth at once! Thy former Lord requires thee now, in return for his clemency with thee when thou decidedst to leave his service.

Something moved inside the cave and there was some kind of gas eruption, followed by a nasty and slimy sound.  
A long black leg, covered in hairs and spines, and ended in a pincer, emerged from the blackness. And then came another leg. And another, and another.  
And finally emerged the most horrendous head that Melkor had ever seen, even inside the wells of Utumno.  
Multiple bulbous eyes looked at him, and from the jaws of the spider came a voice that seemed to flow straight from the bowels of the creature:

-Why dost thou bother Ungoliant, sir, when she doesn't know thee? Unless thou desirest to be devoured, in which case Ungoliant will gladly grant thy wish.

And a thread of green slime slipped from her mouth.  
Melkor was filled with disgust every time he looked at her.

-Silence! What does it mean, thou dost not know me? I am Melkor, the Mighty Arising, thy old Lord from the times of Utumno.

-Yes ... Ungoliant knew a Melkor ... But thou art not him, or at least art not as she remembers him. Ungoliant's eyes no longer see as before. Too much darkness around, sir. Unless thou adoptest a more familiar form, she won't know thee. - and snapping the jaws, she approached menacingly.

Then Melkor took again the form he had in Utumno and during his imprisonment, the Dark Lord, and Ungoliant's eyes turned in its orbits, recognizing him.

-Ah, yes ... That's better. Melkor, Lord of Ungoliant.

-Listen, foul beast. There's a job I have to do, and thou comest with me, so don't make me waste any more time.

-No, no, Ungoliant isn't going. Ungoliant is too hungry.

Melkor became impatient, and in order to bring the Maia out the cave as soon as possible, he made her the first promise that came to his mind.  
If he didn't want to keep it later, he wouldn't do it and that's it.

-Come on, stupid. If thou comest with me, thou wilt devour so much light that not even thy huge belly could keep it. And even in the case that thou wert not satisfied, I will give thee all the treasures I'll steal in Valinor, with both hands.

A deep laughter vibrated inside the belly of the spider, and she finally decided to come out.  
She was bigger than Melkor had thought, and was so swollen, that her pulpy body almost dragged across the floor.

-All right, if there's food Ungoliant goes. But with one condition: as long as the Dark Lord is beside her, he will keep this same form all the time. He won't turn bigger, or more dangerous. She knows the Lord all too well to trust him.

Melkor also agreed to this, eager to get going at last.  
He didn't like being locked back in that body, which still had the marks of the shackles and the invisible wounds left by Mandos, both on the skin and in his insides.  
But in any case, he only had to wear it for a short span of time, as long as the task lasted, or until he got tired of the repulsive Ungoliant.

Thus the Maia and the rebellious Vala set off without further delay, both wrapped in the web of darkness that the spider spew with every step.  
And it didn't take them long to reach the top of the mountains and descend to the wastelands of the South.  
They crept secretly through the forests of Oromë, and though Melkor had to give the occasional kick to the Maia to make her move faster, in a short time they were in Valinor and glimpsed the Ring of Doom and the Trees at a short distance .  
The timing was perfect, because everybody, both the Valar and the Children of Eru, were in Taniquetil celebrating one of those dumb harvest festivals, and cities were left deserted.

"Oh, Manwë! Thou knowest I've escaped from your control, yet thou art trusting enough to get drunk while I walk around freely. Thou undervaluest me, brother. But I'll teach thee not to be so confident."- said Melkor to himself with perverse pleasure.

And he went to the thrones of Judgment, and began to knock them down one by one, as if inebriated by a desire for destruction.  
He had almost forgotten about Ungoliant, when the monster's fetid breath reminded him of her presence:

-Lord Melkor, hast thou brought Ungoliant up here just to see thee knocking thrones? Where is the food?

- Oh, such impatience! Look, for the moment thou canst swallow that throne. –said Melkor pointing to the seat of Mandos.- Swallow it whole, do not leave anything. And then, follow me here. - and in a couple of jumps, Melkor planted himself on top of the green mound where the two Trees grew.

He looked up, and the mixed light made him blink, blinded.  
Apparently, his siblings the Valar couldn't build anything but huge vertical posts that threw light everywhere, burning one's pupils.  
What a lack of imagination!  
Then Melkor reminisced the days in which he had destroyed the two Lamps, when the world was young, and he was overwhelmed by nostalgia.  
Back then he didn't need anyone's help to turn the world upside down.  
How different was everything now!  
Finally, Ungoliant reached the top of the mound, always dragging that tubercular sack that she should call body.  
And she turned the eyeballs toward the Trees, still drooling.

-Very well, my dear Ungoliant. Here thou hast, all the light of the world (except that of the stars, of course), and it's all for thee. Drink, drink until thou explodest! - and Melkor, conjuring a spear in his hand, struck the two Trees with it, and the luminous fluid that run through their roots began pouring in torrents.

The jaws of the hungry spider snapped, and the next moment she was frantically sucking the sap.  
Melkor moved away, to not hear the obscene sucking, and looked toward the top of the Trees, which were beginning to fade away.  
First the light was diminished, as Ungoliant swallowed and regurgitated it as Unlight, and then it went out completely.  
But it didn't end there, because the poison of the monstrous spider penetrated in the roots of the Trees, and spread to every branch, every bud and every leaf.  
The stalks began to get black, and leaves fell rotten to the ground. The branches shrank as scorched skin, and the trunks were twisted in pain.  
Melkor licked his lips out of pleasure at the sight.  
Once Ungoliant had sucked every drop of the Trees, she approached the wells of Varda and engulfed the light stored there as well.  
At that moment, Melkor realized how extremely swollen and huge had become she. So much, that now he was quite a small thing compared to her.  
He felt intimidated by that throbbing black mass, and decided to go away as fast as possible and leave her there.  
If the Valar wanted to punish the culprit, then they could punish her.

He was already going down the hill, when a sticky patch of darkness enveloped him.

-Where is the Dark Lord going in such a hurry, that he can't bring Ungoliant with him?

Melkor trembled slightly, but didn't allow the Maia to perceive his cowardice.

-Nowhere, I'm going nowhere.

-Nowhere? Ungoliant has been there already. Better she accompanies thee.

The bloated mass slid downhill, still wrapping Melkor, and stuck so close to him, that he could feel the hungry growl of her guts against his ribs.  
He had no choice but to take her to Formenos, where he planned to break in the house of Fëanor to steal his beloved Silmarils.  
Fëanor was not there, fortunately for him, since he had gone to the festival with the Valar.  
Less fortunate, however, was his stubborn father.

-Get away from there, thou foolish Elf -roared Melkor when the king of the Noldor came between him and the door. - How darest thou step in the way of Melkor, the Mighty Arising? Moreover seeing as thou seest that I bring with me the stuff of darkness itself. If thou wantest to continue with thy pathetic life, I suggest thee to leave.

-Life is not so pleasing for me since my eldest son is in exile and has quarreled with his brothers. And I've already renounced the crown for him. I will renounce life as well, if necessary, before letting you inside to put your foul hands on his works. - and the Noldorin king drew a sword and looked at them with his head high, not taking his gray piercing eyes off the blackness that was about to engulf him.

His face was incredibly sad, and yet very beautiful.  
Melkor smiled with malice.

-A pity! In other occasion I would have taken a specimen as noble and interesting as thee to my fortress in Angband, and thou wouldst have become my slave. But being things as they are, I think thou wouldst be nothing but a burden, so I'll have to leave thee here.- then he pulled the spear with which he had wounded the Trees and pointed it at the chest of the Elf. –Send my kind regards to Mandos, and tell him I send thee as a gift for him. So he can't say that I'm ungrateful.

Finwe step back trying to defend himself from the thrust, but he was no match for the Vala and with the first blow he fell dead, and lay on the threshold, still impaled on the spear.  
Once inside, Melkor entertained Ungoliant with trinkets and jewels, so she could devour them while he searched for the object of his desire.

"Now I really hope Fëanor isn't wearing the Silmarils upon his forehead" he thought worried.

But this time fate was kind to him, and there they were, in the vault, kept in a small case.  
A shiver ran down his spine when he opened the box and run into the jewels, so close, within reach of his hand, begging him to seize their radiant beauty.  
His heart beat furiously, and his breath quickened in the chest when he closed his hand around the jewels.  
Then, upon feeling the flame that lived inside the Silmarils stroking his fingers, and traveling through every nerve of his being, and touching him just in each exact spot, it was as if the pleasure that he had known in prison had burst inside him again, yet with much greater intensity.  
But just as it had happened in prison, that pleasure also burned him.  
Noticing this, Melkor cursed the jewels and threw them again into the case.  
The palm of his hand was blackened and ached horribly.  
At least he wouldn't keep that body much longer, because with the latter wound added to the others, inhabiting it was already insufferable.

"Just a little longer, Melkor. Enough to make that stinking spider trust thee and accompany thee on the flight. The darkness that she spews will serve thee well now. "

He grabbed the box with the burnt hand, and with the other took a bunch of random gems, before leaving the house.  
Ungoliant was trying to eat the corpse of Finwe but Melkor kicked her before she managed to, and forced her to get going.  
The last thing he needed was seeing that abominable creature eating carrion.

This way, and always wrapped inside the suffocating shroud of Unlight, they fled from Eldamar and headed down the coast to the North, always North.  
Cold began to increase in intensity and icy gusts lashed the deserted wastelands.  
In the end, the earth beneath their feet disappeared, and was replaced by a thick layer of cracking ice.

"The Helcaraxë. Wouldn't it be great if that spider broke the ice under the weight of her enormous belly and sank, not to be seen anymore? " thought Melkor, looking askance at her with scorn.

He didn't know why he hated her so much. In theory, he should have liked her: there was nothing darker than Ungoliant's webs.  
The problem was that this darkness had something ... something primal, or unnatural.  
Something that reminded him of the Void at which he had looked during the creation of Arda.  
And that disturbed him.  
Also, he felt the stare of those bulging eyes over him all the time, measuring him, examining him. And he heard her slurping and snapping the jaws from time to time.  
All the while, the Silmarils kept piercing his skin, and at one point the pain became so intense that a groan escaped his lips.

- What happens to the Dark Lord? - gurgled his companion then- Has he touched something too bright perchance, and now it's burning him? Like a moth to a flame, isn't it? Ungoliant has seen what happens with moths. Ungoliant knows what spiders "do" with moths.

Melkor was tempted to break the ice himself, at that same moment, but the coast of Beleriand was already visible in the distance and he restrained.  
After a while of walking at top speed, even the Iron Mountains could be seen there in the North, and behind them the black fumes of his home, of his fortress of Angband.  
He had wanted so much to see again his beloved iron bastions, and his moats full of stakes, and the fire pits!  
The fact that there was smoke rising was a good sign. It meant that there was still activity within its walls.  
Either that, or the savage orcs used it to make bonfires ...  
Or Sauron had set fire to it, hopeless after seeing that his master didn't return.  
Melkor thought it was the best time to get rid of his annoying companion.  
He decided to grow in size, become a giant mountain crowned by ice or fire, and crush her right there.  
But when he made the attempt, he realized he couldn't.  
Concern seized him, but he tried again and closed his eyes, picturing vividly all the details of his new form.  
He opened them. And nothing.  
He still had the same limbs and the same body, small in comparison with her.  
Now concern became anguish. Why couldn't he change form, what was happening? Was he condemned to remain forever inside that stained and miserable body?  
Was this some kind of punishment for destroying the Trees?  
Or is it that the accursed spider, in her voracity, had devoured part of his powers without him even realizing it?  
Melkor shook those thoughts from his head. No, it couldn't be that, that scene was too grim to be true.  
No doubt this was just a temporary disability due to exhaustion. As soon as he recovered, everything would return to normal.  
Also, they were so close to Angband now, that he could shake off the Maia and run to the fortress.  
However, a huge shadow rose above him, in his way of escape. Looking up, he met the mountain of bulbous flesh that had become Ungoliant.

- Where goes the Dark Lord again, always trying to sneak? Ungoliant wants her share, as the Lord promised her! With both hands.

Melkor let a curse slip through his teeth, but he had no choice but giving her the gems he had stolen, one by one.  
When the last of the jewels disappeared into the maw of the monster, Melkor ordered her to depart, for he had kept his promise.  
But Ungoliant didn't move.

-With both hands, said the Dark Lord, but only with one has he rewarded Ungoliant. And she wonders, what has the Lord in the other hand? - the pincer of one of her legs brushed Melkor's closed hand, and he stepped back, but stood firm.

-What I have on the other hand is not of thy concern, thou sack of poison, and I won't give it to thee! Thou hast already eaten more than thou deservedst. Now get out of my sight, or thou wilt regret it!

A laugh echoed through the guts of the monster, and she drew even closer.

-Ungoliant wonders how tastes what the Dark Lord has in the hand ...

-Tastes of fire! If thou swallow it, it will burn thy filthy bowels. It will make a hole in thy belly and thou wilt turn into a deflated skin.

-In that case, Ungoliant wonders ... _how tastes the Dark Lord?_- the cluster of eyes gave off a glint of lascivious gluttony, and the rest happened very fast.

Somehow and all of a sudden, Melkor found himself wrapped in the sticky nets of the spider and fell to the ground.  
Two pincers pinned his wrists against the ground, and two other pincers grabbed him by the ankles, spreading his limbs in a cross.  
Melkor squirmed, now really terrified, but still clenched in his hand the Silmarils.  
Green slime dripped from the jaws of the spider on his face, and the black fumes she belched barely let him open his eyes.

-Yes ... That's better, stay still ... Much better ... Now let's see what has the Dark Lord for Ungoliant down here... - and Melkor felt two hairy legs lifting his robe up to his neck. A nasty fluid oozed over his naked navel, and the monster's eyeballs checked him from top to bottom, looking hungry. -Mmmm ... so pretty. Not much flesh, not much flesh indeed, but it looks delicious. Smells good ... sure it tastes good. Ungoliant will eat thy body first, and then whatever is inside. Yes, Ungoliant has never eaten a Vala. Must be delicious, delicious ...

Melkor closed his eyes when he saw the voracious maw opening over him.  
So thus ended the Dark Lord: eaten by an abominable spider.  
This should be the empty place of which Mandos had spoken, the black hole of that stomach.  
Perhaps, if he had paid more attention to the music of the Ainur, he would have seen it coming. But that didn't matter anymore.  
At least he would die with his hand closed, and Ungoliant would swallow the Silmarils, yes, but he wouldn't give her the pleasure of seeing them.  
"Eru must roar with laughter right now," he lamented, just as the jaws clenched his neck.

And then, among the blackness that enveloped him, he saw a burst of fire, and the spider jerked back, screaming in pain.  
Flaming whips lacerated the flesh of the beast and opened deep cracks on her, through which the poison poured out.  
Badly injured and frightened, Ungoliant run away as fast as she could, leaving a trail of nauseating suppuration.  
Melkor looked up confused, and saw Gothmog along his company of Balrogs, watching him with worried faces.  
He should have been glad then, but instead he felt terribly embarrased.  
He jumped to his feet and rearranged his clothes quickly, dusting himself off and trying to hide the scratches the spider had made him.

- What are ye doing here? – he asked with feigned calm, as if nothing had happened at all.

-Ummm ... We heard thee screaming, my Lord, and we assumed that thou wert in trouble. We came flying from Angband, hoping it wasn't too late. – said Gothmog, lowering the head.

- Screaming? I haven't screamed, stupid! – replied Melkor irritated.

The Balrogs exchanged meaningful glances with each other and Gothmog, somewhat shy, replied:  
-Lord, the cry was heard throughout the region. It still reverberates in the mountains.

Two flares of anger appeared in the eyes of the Vala, and snatching the whip from the Balrog captain, he crossed his face with it.

- Silence, insolent! The next time thou darest to contradict me, thou wilt pay with thy life. Now take me to Angband!

Gothmog rubbed the black cheek, stunned by this outbreak of irrational rage from his master, but he just said:

-Of course, my Lord. Unfortunately, we haven't prepared a worthy welcome for thee, because we didn't know when wouldst thou return. But Sauron will be informed immediately, to take charge of the preparations. Something that, if thou allowest me, I think he should have done already, if he had been more sighted and had listened to my counsel.

- Yes, yes, yes! I'm not interested in thy petty rivalries with Sauron. Take me to him, now!

And they got going, heading for the fortress.  
The burn produced by the Silmarils was already so deep, that Melkor could feel it in the bone.  
But still he didn't open the hand, and didn't let the Balrogs notice the pain that ate him inside.  
Nobody, NOBODY should ever know of the weaknesses of that body, or the wounds that he wore inside.

When he finally found himself facing the ominous gates of Angband, Melkor realized how little he wanted to meet his lieutenant Sauron.  
"Not thus, not thus" he thought bitterly, as he crossed the portal and disappeared beneath the huge iron vaults.


	3. Punishment

**Ok, this chapter turned out to be almost three times longer than the other two, so you may prefer to read it in two goes.  
I tried to not deviate from canon, except with details like Melkor burning only one hand, instead of the two (I suppose he wouldn't be so stupid to touch the Silmarils with his other hand, after seeing what they had done with the other XD)  
Only warnings are because of some violence and implied torture, though there's nothing explicit.  
Reviews, as always, are very, very welcomed.**

**Chapter 3. Punishment**

Melkor tried by all means to avoid the soldiers and guards that were hiding in the fortress.  
Now he wanted to be alone, he didn't want the suspicious and interrogative stares of the Orcs laid on him.  
He knew what those stares meant: "What has happened to the Lord? Where has he been? "  
So the less people saw him arriving in such deplorable conditions, the better.  
In any case, as soon as the Orcs guessed his anger, they quickly dispersed and left him free way, aware of what they exposed themselves to, if they stirred the wrath of their master a bit more.  
Then Melkor ordered the Balrog guards to retreat, and finally alone, went down an endless spiral staircase.  
In front of the last step opened the door of a chamber, to which only he and Sauron had access,  
one of the oldest in Angband, and that had witnessed the greatest atrocities.

Once inside, he left the casket of Silmarils on a table, and sighed with relief.  
If he had spent just one more second with that fire devouring his flesh, probably he would have cried,  
and everyone would have noticed his misfortune.  
He looked at his right hand with pity.  
What had been a fine, translucent skin, now was just a large blackish spot.  
Yes, definitely, that hand had been rendered useless. And that was the hand with which he used to wield his mace Grond.  
Eru knew he was no warrior at all, and that the few times he had fought, Tulkas had just dragged him along the ground.  
But now he really hoped to not have to fight anymore.  
Leaving aside sorrows, however, he got down to work.  
He opened the closet where Sauron kept the instruments of torture,  
and began rummaging for something that would serve him for what he had in mind.  
There were iron objects of the most colourful and original forms that one could imagine,  
and although Melkor didn't really know what was the purpose of most of them, since he wasn't interested in the modern techniques of Sauron, he guessed that their functions were extremely unpleasant.

"An outstanding apprentice of Aulë, indeed." he thought with sarcasm.

At last he found what he wanted: a large iron collar, perhaps to hold the neck of a large wolf.  
With a few fixes, he could transform it into what he wanted.

Shortly thereafter, Melkor was sitting on his throne with a crown above his forehead,  
that showed to the admiring eyes of everyone the shining Silmarils mounted in it.  
On the other side, he also wore a black silk glove on his right hand,  
that concealed from the prying eyes of everyone the shameful burns that those same Silmarils had caused him .  
All those around him praised the beauty of the jewels and the great feat of their Lord, that had seized them so skillfully,  
and assured him, that nowhere else in the world would they look as beautiful as over his head.  
Besides, no one dared to ask anything about the glove,  
so after a few minutes of praise and celebration for his return, Melkor began to feel at home again.  
When he got bored of listening to his servants reminding him how great and powerful he was,  
he dismissed them out of the room with a simple gesture of the hand.  
And asked to see Sauron. Alone.

The order was transmitted at once, and within a few minutes, the echo of the lieutenant's riding boots resounded through the hollow vaults, announcing his arrival.  
A tall, arrogant figure entered the throne room with long strides,  
followed by a black cape so long, that it fluttered several feet behind him, like his own entourage of specters.  
He was dressed in the typical attire of the forest hunters, but always in black from head to toe, and with the sword at his side.  
Sauron stood before the throne with martial air and his head held high.

- My Lord? -said simply.

"Ummm! As self-important as ever ... " cursed Melkor to himself, frowning.

-That's not a very warm welcome after three ages of absence, dost thou think not? -he reproached him- Come here and kiss thy lord and master. It's the least thou shouldst do, ungrateful one. -and he extended his left hand with listlessness.

Sauron bowed obediently, took the delicate fingers,  
and kissed the back of the hand over one of the veins that showed through the skin.  
When he rose again, Melkor examined him more carefully.

Yes, he was still the same as always: white as snow, hard as glass, cold as ice.  
In the sharp features of that face all the lines were cut with exquisite cruelty.  
The thin and bloodless lips seemed to show a permanent gesture of disdain,  
and from time to time they revealed, as secret pearls, the white teeth and a pair of fangs more prominent than usual, like those of wild animals.  
In stark contrast to the deadly paleness of his face, his hair was black and smooth as a mirror,  
cut to jaw-lenght, and always impeccably combed behind his ear.  
And then there were the eyes ... Oh, those eyes! Those cursed eyes!  
The right one looked like a pale and dull glass, that didn't look anywhere.  
And Melkor had always wondered if it was because of an injury, or if it was blinded, or if he just had it that way to disturb his victims.  
But that wasn't the eye that drew the attention of Melkor.  
It was the other, the left one.  
An eye that oozed feline malice, that burned with its own flame, encased inside the glass globe.  
When Sauron was furious, the first sign that betrayed his anger was a contraction of that pupil.  
It became then a narrow slit, and upon seeing this, Orcs and creatures under his service trembled in terror,  
knowing that the cruelty of his superior was about to be taken out on them.  
Melkor felt attracted to that eye, and at the same time he hated it deeply.  
But actually, the same could be said about his feelings toward Sauron himself.  
He loved and abhored him in equal measure.  
He loved him like a proud father that recognizes himself in his son, seeing that he has followed in his footsteps.  
He abhored him, as someone that has in front of him an all too perfect copy of himself,  
inaccurate and inferior, of course, but in spite of everything, too similar, too finished, too ... "real".  
At that moment, Melkor leaned more towards abhorrence than towards love.

-I see that these three hundred years have treated thee well, my lieutenant. While I have consumed myself in prison and show the weariness of three ages upon my face, thou art just like the day I left thee. Thou knowest, the day that thou hidst cowardly while they burdened me with chains.

Upon hearing the insidious words of his master, Sauron smiled slightly, showing a fang.

-I didn't hide, my Lord. I was just in a more convenient place than thee. As for these three ages, they haven't treated me well. It was me, that knew how to take care of myself.

Melkor shook his head, forgeting about the issue, and adopted a more relaxed posture on the throne, half sitting and half reclining.

-One day I will cut that sharp tongue of thine, Sauron, and will make thee swallow it. But for now I want thee to keep it, because I have a lot to talk with thee.

-About what, my Lord?

-What dost thou mean, about what!? About me, of course! Art thou not going to say anything about my Silmarils?

Sauron looked confused.

-My Lord, what is a silmaril?

-This, ignorant! -he shouted, pointing to the three gems- Dost thou think not that they're the most beautiful thing thou hast ever seen? And they are only mine! Tell me, they are magnificient, right?

-I suppose, my liege.

-Suppose!? -muttered Melkor- Truly, Sauron, sometimes I think thou didst not come to me by thy own will, but it was Aulë who threw thee away, because of thy total lack of vision and sense of beauty. Which reminds me of another important issue I have to deal with thee: why looks my fortress like a wreck? Why is the throne room so dirty, why is there debris and remains of pillars all over the ground, why lay my chambers in ruins? Thou hadst three hundred years to clean it, to raise Angband again. But instead thou preferredst to laze around and conspire in my absence, isn't it?

Sauron heard the accusations, but remained unfazed.  
That was one of the things that annoyed Melkor the most about his lieutenant, that glacial calm in the face of threats.

-My Lord, both the dungeons, the furnaces, the armory and the foundries are fully operational and running at full capacity. All useful and vital parts of the fortress have been restored. Only thy halls and chambers lay in ruins, for there was no one to use them, and I preferred to employ those resources for more urgent tasks. Our army of Orcs is ten times larger than thou rememberst it, and we have decimated the forest Elves. The dwarves hardly dare to leave their mountains, where a good number of them perished under the iron of our swords. And I have deployed troops in all strategic areas of Beleriand, ensuring effective control over those territories. Only Doriath resists us in part, and that because of the power of Melian. But thanks to the siege I've been laying around the forest without the knowledge of King Thingol, we have those Elves ready to be crushed as soon as I give the order to attack and ...

-Yes, yes, I do not care about military maneuvers! –interrupted Melkor, bored- Thou art in charge of war, Sauron, but I am a God. And I want a throne room worthy of my majesty and my Silmarils! Thy mediocre little wars can wait. The first thing is to rebuild the halls and the external facade. I don't want my fortress to look like a mountain of rubble. I want that anybody who sees it from afar feels his heart shrinking, and that they know that Melkor, the Mighty Arising, sits once more on his throne. And that they worship my shadow, out of love or fear I don't care, but that they worship me.

Sauron suppressed a sigh of frustration.  
Maybe he hadn't a great sense of beauty, or it wasn't important to him, but Melkor certainly had no practical sense.  
Now he would have to attend to useless reconstruction works and leave aside the attack on Doriath.  
And perhaps, when he wanted to resume the war, it would be too late.  
When would his master realize that battles are won with troops, and strategy, and organization, and not with crowns, or shiny jewels, or high thrones?  
But after all, Melkor was a god. And a capricious god, also.  
Sauron would never understand his logic, if he had any.

-Is there anything else I can do for my lord and master Melkor, the Mighty Arising? - Melkor didn't notice the sarcasm of his voice, luckily for him.

-Yes. I want a mountain.

The flaming eye of Sauron opened wide to the unusual request. Even the dead eye gave off a spark of disbelief.

-Pardon, my liege?

-Thou heardst it, a mountain! Is thy ear as untrustworthy as thy loyalty? I want a mountain that rises above the fortress, with three terrifying peaks towering to the sky, spewing clouds of ash and sulfur that blind forever the light of the stars. I don't want to see the Sickle of the Valar in the sky anymore, that insulting symbol ...

-But we are already surrounded by mountains, my Lord. Do we need another one? -the look that Melkor shot at him was more than eloquent. "We'll never invade Doriath, that's for sure" he thought with resignation. And making a huge effort to seem in agreement, he said: -All right, and when dost thou want it to be finished?

-In three days.

Sauron forced a smile on his face, and pressed the hilt of the sword nervously.

-With all due respect, master, it's impossible for the Orcs and trolls to raise a mountain of those characteristics in just three days.

-Nonsense! I could build a mountain even a hundred times larger with a simple gesture of my hand. -Sauron raised his eyebrows, as if asking why didn't he do it then, and Melkor hesitated for a second- But... I don't want to. I want thee to take care of it! Of course, if thou art unable to satisfy the desires of thy Lord, I'll have to ask someone more competent... Gothmog, for example. –he whispered, squinting slyly.

Sauron's hand clenched around the hilt.

-My Lord, the minimum amount of time to build a mountain would be six months -replied, even more upright and arrogant than before- However, since I'll take care of the work, it will be just three. Now, if thou allowest me to retire...

Melkor nodded, a little tired of the conversation, and dismissed him with an indolent wave of his gloved hand.  
Sauron bowed his head, turned on his heels and left just as he had entered,  
with long strides that resonated within the walls, and the cape fluttering behind.

The works on Thangorodrim, for so had Melkor decided to call the mountain, began almost immediately.  
Sauron had been foresighted during all those years, and had kept many Elves and dwarves as slaves to aid in the usual construction works. Accelerating the process at top speed, he managed to raise at least a third of the building in a month.  
Many slaves and Orcs died, however, because of the harsh working conditions.  
Direct supervision of the labour was provided by the Balrogs, with Gothmog in the lead,  
but Sauron was the main one responsible, and was in charge of the planning and design of the structure.  
From time to time, he made a round of the construction site, and upon seeing his black figure, everyone, both Orcs, and trolls, and slaves, sped up the rhythm of their picks and shovels, since they knew that the lieutenant was ruthless with loafers.  
In general, the construction progressed smoothly, because fear is a great motivator,  
but nevertheless there was the occasional incident.

One day a wall collapsed, and all because a group of Orcs began to argue about some stupidity  
while they lifted a huge stone block with ropes and pulleys.  
The Orcs who held the ropes suddenly released them to attack the fellow workers who had provoked them,  
and then the block hit hard against the structure. It opened a deep crevice, and part of the wall broke off and fell down.  
Sauron was taking his usual walk of supervision, and saw in the distance the cloud of dust rising into the sky.  
Seized by rage, he ran to the place of the accident and watched the scene: stone blocks thrown everywhere, some with Orcs crushed underneath, and pulverized volcanic rocks, and the broken pulley on the ground.  
His shouts of anger and the sound of the whip hitting the guilty Orcs, reverberated throughout the mountain.  
The other workers lowered their eyes and tried to ignore the sounds of lashing.  
Few were those who lived to tell the tale, after having encountered the black whip of Gorthaur the Cruel.  
The lieutenant wasn't done yet, and had still the whip in his hand, trembling with anger,  
when a cloud of foul-smelling sulfur grazed his neck.  
Turning around, he ran into the black and swollen face of Gothmog, who looked at him with little sympathy.

-What is the lieutenant doing here, disciplining the Orcs that I have in my care? –he growled, with a guttural voice- I think thou art overreaching in thy functions, Sauron. I am the supervisor, and I take care of discipline! Thou canst mind thy own business.

-If thou wert really a competent supervisor and disciplined these useless wretches as it should be done, this would not have happened –replied Sauron with a sneer.

Gothmog approached him further and released a cloud of smoke through the nose,  
which fell apart upon hitting the lieutenant's face.  
Sauron stared at the thick iron ring that pierced the Balrog's nostrils.  
He had always wanted to hook a chain to that ring, and drag Gothmog after a horse with it.

-Dost thou think I'm not a good supervisor, Gorthaur? Maybe it's because I'm used to deal with real soldiers, instead of being a vulgar slave master, like thee.

The pupil of Sauron shrank so much then, that it almost disappeared, and with a quick flick of the wrist he lashed the hand of the Balrog, forcing him to drop his own flaming whip.

- What's wrong, Gothmog? Is thy hand even slower than thy brain? –he scoffed.

-Damned one-eyed son of a werewolf! - cursed Gothmog clutching his injured hand.

The next moment, the point of Sauron's sword was pressing against his cheek.

-Be careful with what thou sayst, Gothmog. If thou callst me "one-eyed" again, I swear that from now on thou wilt be called "blind".

The fight didn't go further, in any case, because just then Melkor's voice echoed from the depths of Angband, calling his lieutenant.

-Run, Sauron, the master requires thee! He probably needs thy help to redecorate the chambers -yelled the Balrog sarcastically, as he walked away toward the fortress.

Sauron swore between his teeth. He would settle scores with Gothmog later.  
However, his rival was not misled, for indeed, that was exactly what Melkor wanted.

Sometimes Sauron wondered why his master suddenly attached so much importance to private rooms, to intimacy, even to loneliness.  
Before the Valar took him as prisoner, he wasn't like that.  
He went across Middle Earth all the time, causing landslides in mountains here, raising volcanoes there,  
and changing the course of a river a bit further.  
The whole of Arda was his home, and at the same time, no place was his home.  
Property hadn't existed for him, nor private life.  
His entire existence was a constant act of fusion with the earth and disintegration of the earth, an act so public and natural as a storm or a gale-force wind. Utumno was a base of operations, indeed, and a refuge against attacks, but it wasn't a place where Melkor felt the need to return at the end of the day.  
Now, however, he never left Angband, and in fact, some days he didn't even leave his chambers.  
At times he wandered as a melancholic ghost through the corridors of the most isolated towers.  
And if then an Orc, or any other servant, dared to disturb the loneliness of the master with his presence,  
either by necessity or by chance, then most likely he would pay for it with blood and pain down in the dungeons.  
Because Melkor didn't allow anyone to see him like that.  
And Sauron wondered what terrible fate had befallen his master in the hands of the Valar, to produce such a change in his nature.

The truth was that no one was able to guess what was going through the head of Melkor at those times, and he kept his thoughts to himself.  
The iron crown had become an oppressive presence, that every day weighed more and more, like a new collar of punishment.  
And the beams of light that emanated from the Silmarils were just a reminder of those secret burns that would mark his body forever.  
Each time the ghostly glow of the jewels brushed his skin accidentally, a stabbing pain run through each of his wounds.  
It began in the palm of his hand, and ascended across the arm to his neck, and then went down like an incandescent torrent to the nipples, and the stomach, and between his legs, and then went inside and climbed his spine to the mouth.  
At those moments he was painfully aware of his body, of each of the nerves and muscles that formed it.  
That body which, although wasted away and became more fragile every day, every day also seemed to be heavier,  
as if the particles that formed it, condensed gradually, and the matter was crushing the spirit.

It was his prison.  
And sometimes, it was also a cruel master that took control of his will.  
Melkor could barely admit it to himself, but the truth was that, occasionally, he felt desires and needs that he had not felt before.  
He had always been able to experience pleasure and arousal, of course,  
and also the ecstasy, and the agony when he didn't reach it, as he had realized in the halls of Mandos.  
But what he felt now was a violent urge, an order imposed by his body, with no meaning and at the most inopportune times.  
Then his mind became clouded, and he only craved to be touched and penetrated again.  
And it was unfortunate that the will of the most powerful god of Arda was thus vanquished by the whims of vile matter.  
At first he tried to console himself, alone in his chambers. But it was even worse, because the need would grow the next day.  
So he thought of another solution, and built himself a bed, as the ones used by the Elven kings, large and comfortable.  
And there he retired to sleep whenever his anguish turned unbearable, as he had done during centuries of confinement.  
When he awoke, the torment was gone.  
But he never dreamed again. He simply ceased to exist.  
And he wondered if that feeling of not-being was the privilege that, as he had heard, Ilúvatar reserved for the Secondborn.  
Or if it was something similar to that void of which Mandos spoke.  
If it was so, then that punishment didn't seem so terrible anymore.

In the fateful hour in which the first Noldor set foot in Beleriand, Melkor was standing in front of a mirror.  
He looked with hatred and desire at the reflection of the Silmarils in the glass.  
So close, and yet so out of reach. A beauty that he was doomed to always look upon and never touch.  
And he looked at himself as well, a pale phantom, filled with black corruption.  
The last words of Mandos echoed in his head: "No matter what Manwë says. Thou shouldst keep this form forever, Melkor. In a strange way, it's beautiful".

The accursed Vala had known it all along!

When Sauron burst into the room, Melkor was trampling the broken shards of mirror, that were scattered across the floor, possessed by a homicidal rage.  
The lieutenant remained perplexed for a moment, until his master seemed to calm down a bit, and then he cleared his throat:

-Ahem! If my lord Melkor is displeased by mirrors, I can make sure that they all get what is coming to them. -Melkor looked up in surprise, because he hadn't noticed the presence of Sauron. The fire of anger had been extinguished already, and he greeted him calmly.

-Ah, greetings, Sauron! What have thy spies found out now? Judging by thy face, I guess thou knowest something that I don't. Thou hast eyes everywhere, dost thou not? A curious skill for a one-eyed...

Sauron smiled slightly. The words that his master addressed to him always had a double edge, and one had to be careful not to get cut by them.

-My Lord knows me better than myself. I bring news, yes, but they're not good.

-Are they ever?

-The Noldor have landed in the firth of Drengist, and Fëanor is in their lead, demanding the jewels. However, we suspect that there are still more troops to come, because we heard them talking of his brothers, and these don't come with them.

-Demanding my jewels? Thou speakst as if he had any right over them. And where are those ill-conceived Elves now?

-In the region known as Lammoth. -Melkor raised his eyebrows, a little confused.

-Lammoth? The "Great Echo"? Where is that? I've never heard of that place.

-The name is new. It's called thus because rumours say one can still hear the echo of the ... ahem ... of the cry thou letst out during thy struggle with Ungoliant.

Melkor's white cheeks turned a shade of red upon hearing this, and two sparks flashed in his eyes.

-I didn't scream, damn, how many times I have to repeat it!? Who made up that filthy lie!? Dost thou think that I, Melkor, the Mighty Arising, would scream because of an insignificant Maia, of a stinky spider? –he protested, wounded in the depths of his pride.

-I don't think so, my Lord. They're just rumours from ignorant villagers. They have also called the nearby mountains "The Echoing Mountains", and the land behind, "The Land of Echoes". They aren't very inventive.

Melkor bit his lip, furious. Now even geography was against him and conspired to make him look like a coward. It was the last thing he needed to hear.

-And there's more, my Lord. Fëanor has given thee a new name and now the Noldor use it always, and refuse to call thee by thy real name. Morgoth, the Black Enemy, do they call thee.

At that moment, the two sparks in Melkor's eyes ignited, and turned into two bonfires.

-Enemy? Enemy!? How dare they, why am I the Enemy? Hypocrites, cynics, scum! Aren't they also my enemies, aren't the Valar my enemies? They're the ones who won't let me live in peace, they're the ones who condemn each and every one of my acts, who constantly declare war on me! They are the Enemy!

Melkor had started to pace frantically around the room.  
And Sauron watched with stoicism as he destroyed the furniture and tore the tapestries from the walls.  
He knew exactly who would be responsible for repairing the damage later.

-My Lord, they're just rumours. Names don't have more power than the one thou grantest them. Look at me. Everyone calls me Sauron "the Abhorred", but I don't care. Even thou callst me thus.

-That's because it's a most befitting name! And because no one remembers thy stupid original name.

Melkor turned his back to him and walked to a window that overlooked the pits of Angband, and there he stayed, staring down in silence.  
Sauron observed the narrow shoulders rising and falling to the rhythm of breathing, and wondered why Melkor seemed so small now.

-What should I do, my Lord?

-This is war, Sauron. Fight for thy master and defend the Silmarils. That is thy duty. If thou failst me, consider thy name erased from my heart. Whatever the name may it be...

-Yes, my Lord -Sauron made a nod that Melkor didn't see, and left.

The war against the Noldor.  
Definitely, the attack and conquest of Doriath would never take place.  
In fact, it was already too late: Melian, concerned about the recent turmoil and the return of Melkor, had exhausted her patience, and had created a magical "girdle" around the forest. A girdle that was impenetrable for all evil creatures, that bumped against it as against an invisible wall.

"The cunning and treacherous witch..." –cursed Sauron to himself, as he walked briskly through the spacious halls of the armory towards the barracks of the Orcs–"Oh, Melkor! Why hast thou stolen those jewels and brought those wretched Noldor here?"

He could have given his Lord the whole Middle Earth on a silver platter.  
A clean Middle Earth where moss grew over the dead bodies of Elves, and the kings of dwarves grew older imprisoned under the mountains, until the last descendant of their decrepit lineage languished and died within its walls, without being mourned by anyone.  
He would have given him a beautiful kingdom for him alone, away from the Valar and their horrible light.  
He would have proved him how far reached his love and loyalty, if only he had let him.  
But instead, his master had stolen those jewels and brought the plague of the Noldor home.  
And all the glorious plans of Sauron fell apart quickly, like a house built in dreams upon awakening.

Why had he stolen the Silmarils, anyway? This question didn't have a satisfactory answer in the mind of Sauron.  
Those jewels had no special power, except the one of causing a slight stinging in the eyes if one looked at them for too long.  
One couldn't use them to dominate the wills of others, or to see distant events, from past or future,  
nor did they turn their owner more powerful.  
They were beautiful, yes, but beauty without purpose is a vain and hollow thing.  
Actually, Sauron wasn't entirely insensitive to beauty, and in fact, while he was in the service of Aulë, he created many precious objects. But all of them had always an important purpose.  
And he was sure that, if he ever had to make something beautiful once more, a jewel or something, it would be with a very specific goal in mind.  
If what Melkor wanted to accomplish with the theft, was simply to enrage the Noldor and the Valar, then he might as well have given them to the spider, so that she swallowed them and shunned them forever from sight.  
That would have left the Noldor downright disheartened, it would have destroyed their hopes, and would have prevented them from following him to Middle Earth, in order to claim them.  
That would have been the logical way to do it...  
But Melkor didn't want that.  
Then why had he stolen the Silmarils?  
Sauron had thought about this quite often, and had only found one answer, that he didn't like:  
Because they were pretty, just because of that.  
Melkor had seen them, had become infatuated with them, and had taken them away without thinking about the long-term consequences, as he always did.  
But such behaviour didn't seem to him as befitting of a Dark Lord, it didn't even seem manly.  
It was the typical way of acting of a capricious woman, as much it may hurt Sauron to admit it.  
And he, with his cold heart and his head full of schemes, felt frustrated upon seeing the incomprehensible actions of his Lord, but also fascinated and envious.  
Envious, because he would never share that violent and wild fire that inspired each and every act of Melkor.  
Envious because, no matter how many plans and maps he devised, or how many theories he developed, or how much information he obtained, the ultimate mystery that laid behind everything, would always elude him.  
And perhaps only Melkor could sense it, because it was a part of him.

The doors of the wooden barrack, where Orcs were packed in foul conditions, burst open, and a cold breeze swept over their misshapen heads. The tall figure of the lieutenant, wrapped in black, was standing in the doorway, and his fiery eye burned with bloodlust.

-Move your lazy behinds and shake off the dust of your swords, ye can of maggots! – he bellowed, authoritarian- Soon ye will eat Elf meat again. This is war!

Upon hearing this, the ranks of Orcs stood up, inflamed, and a hoarse and brutal cry left their throats in celebration, and blackish tongues licked their lips, and rotten teeth gleamed in the darkness.  
Sauron felt his spirit growing back in his chest, fed by the clamour of battle, that he loved so much.  
After all, war was always a happy occasion for him, and shortly thereafter,  
he had erased the dark thoughts that just a moment before disturbed him.

However, the first battle against the Noldor, which later became known as the "Battle under Stars", wasn't very happy.  
Sauron had decided to divide the army on two fronts: the first was to attack the Noldor in the region of Mithrim, where they had been quartered, while the latter advanced against Círdan in the Falas, in order to avoid any possible reinforcement from that quarter.  
Sauron led that second front, and at first, the battle was favourable, with few casualties.  
But then started coming messengers from the North, spirits in the form of rooks or bats,  
that whispered upsetting news into his ear.  
The Noldor prevailed, and now the troops of Mithrim retreated in disarray toward Angband.  
Sauron was furious, but kept a cool head and ordered a retreat, to aid the other front.

-"At least I can find out myself if the blood of the Elves of Light is also bright, as they say their eyes are" -he consoled himself, as he rode out to meet the Noldor.

He planned to surprise them from behind and slaughter them all, but they were the ones surprised.  
One of the sons of Fëanor rushed toward them with a large army from one flank,  
and a second later, streams of black Orc blood sprung up here and there.  
For the first time, Sauron could see the High Elves face to face.  
They brandished the sword with no less cruelty than the servants of Angband, but he found in their faces that divine spark of the Valar, which he had almost forgotten.  
And the anger showing in their eyes was breathtakingly beautiful.  
While he saw them advancing in formation on the backs of their white horses, both noble and savage, raising curtains of blood in their wake, he realized that these were finally the worthy rivals that he had missed for so long in Middle Earth.  
And Sauron found out, to his surprise, that even though the Elves were defeating them, a kind of strange joy trembled inside him.

For a long time they tried to resist without giving up ground to them,  
but the superiority of the Noldor was overwhelming, and they ended up driving them to the Fen of Serech,  
where the Orcs dispersed in terror.  
Sauron made it to safety on the top of a hill, and watched the debacle.  
The plain was strewn with Orc corpses, trampled by the beautiful horses of the Elves.  
And in the distance, the enemies rode back to Mithrim as a ghostly cloud. Everything had gone quiet.  
Sauron looked up into the starry dome,  
and the Sickle of the Valar replied with a mocking twinkle of its seven stars.

As corollary, upon his return to Angband after the ten days that the skirmishes had lasted,  
Sauron came across a surprise, that was almost more unpleasant than the unexpected attack of the Noldor.  
A horde of Balrogs and Orcs crowded in the throne room, jubilant, circling someone that Sauron couldn't see at first.  
Even Melkor had descended from the throne, and congratulated the warrior who had brought a ray of hope in the midst of disaster.  
Sauron approached the group, annoyed by their happy faces at those grim times,  
and finally saw who they were cheering: a huge blackish body shrouded in flames and fumes, with two curved horns on his head, and a deep laugh that resounded in each iron pillar.

-"Gothmog ..." –he growled through his teeth. And if Sauron had had some Orc at hand at that moment, probably he would have whipped him to vent his rage.

According to what he could guess, the reckless Fëanor had come too close to the fortress, and there he had met his rival.  
The Balrogs had wiped out almost all his companions, and Gothmog himself had left Fëanor badly injured, but the Elf had managed to escape.  
At the moment Sauron came through the door, everyone was celebrating the latest news:  
Fëanor, the mortal enemy of Melkor, who had summoned the Noldor against him and had given him that blasphemous name, had died due to the wounds inflicted on him by the Balrog captain.  
And as if death wasn't enough, he had also disintegrated into ashes, through the work of some dark spell.

Now Melkor looked pleased at Gothmog. And not just looked at him, he smiled at him!  
He smiled in a way that Sauron barely remembered: with gratitude, with respect, with sincerity ...  
When was the last time Melkor had smiled at him like that?  
Sauron made his way through the crowd and stood in the middle of the circle as a black shadow, that came to ruin the joy of the scene.  
The glassy eye showed such coldness that silence fell upon everyone at once.  
But the other eye couldn't hide the flame of envy and resentment, and this was addressed to the hated rival.  
Melkor's smile twisted into a wry grin at the sight of his lieutenant.

-Oh, my dear Sauron! -he exclaimed, in a tone of voice so sharp that it split flesh- We were already thinking that thou hadst fallen into the hands of the Noldor as well, and that we wouldn't see thee again. How dost thou feel after having sent my army to utter ruin?

Sauron swallowed his pride, and simply did a little martial salute with his head.

-My Lord, I did my best.

-That's very little for me. Thou hast failed me. –then Melkor extended his left hand and Sauron leaned down to kiss it. But when his lips were already touching the skin, the Vala suddenly withdrew his hand and slapped him. A humiliating slap in front of everyone.

A murmur of disapproval rose among those who watched, and Sauron noticed dozens of looks, between compassionate and mocking, upon his face, which was turning red from the blow already.  
After this, Melkor turned around and left the room angrily.  
A sharp pain gripped the lieutenant.  
Pain not because of the slap, or the stares, or the shame, not even because of the triumph of Gothmog... but pain because of the words of his Lord: "Thou hast failed me."  
That short sentence had pierced him more deeply than any sword, no matter how long and sharp, could ever pierce him.

A huge arm that stank of sulfur nudged him with sarcasm:

-What's happening, Sauron? Has the Elf hunter got rusty? -laughed the Balrog with his rude booming voice.- Thy problem is that thou spendst too much time in the dungeons, torturing helpless prisoners, rather than on the battlefield, facing real warriors. But rejoice! We are celebrating today, so join the party. In the barracks of the Orcs thou canst drown thy sorrows with plentiful wine that we reserved for the occasion -and Gothmog elbowed him in the ribs again, insolent.

Sauron was about to punch him in the eye, but decided to hold back. Losing his temper was not like him, and he didn't want to make another scene after what had happened with Melkor. So he pushed the Balrog away and left the room with long strides, without looking anyone in the face.

Sauron spent the following days in the most miserable ostracism.  
His Lord didn't call him to his presence even once, and it was obvious that this was because he had the express desire of avoiding him, not because there wasn't any task to do in Angband, since there was always.  
Furthermore, the works on Thangorodrim were completed at the end of the three months promised, so Sauron's presence wasn't required there either.  
Thus, sunk into a gloomy mood, the lieutenant vented his frustrations on the prisoners.  
And in those days, the sound of his riding boots descending the stairs to the dungeons, was more feared than ever by the unfortunates who crowded the cells.

But that situation couldn't continue.  
Luck is for those who are able to create it themselves, and Sauron was willing to disobey his master and act on his own, if thus he could win back his favour.  
Then he summoned a party of trusted servants to send an embassy of peace to the Noldor.  
He didn't send stupid Orcs, too brutal to understand the subtleties of diplomacy, but clever and deceptive wraiths.  
Through the embassy, Sauron acknowledged his defeat and assured them that Melkor was aware of the negotiations and had promised a Silmaril to the Noldor, as a peace offering. Of course, he knew that Melkor would never be able to promise such a thing, even if it was just a lie. The mere words: "I will give you one of my Silmarils", would have burned in his tongue more than molten iron.  
However, the Elves didn't know this, and with flattering words he managed to convince Maedhros, the eldest son of Fëanor, to meet secretly with them, since the lust of the Elven lord for the jewels was almost as great as that of Melkor himself.

Nonetheless, those who are untrustworthy, do not trust anyone,  
and the Elves came to the meeting with more troops than what was agreed.  
But Sauron had set the trap first, and the malice of the Noldor could do nothing against that.  
The Elves were ambushed from the adjacent forests, and they killed them all.  
Maedhros alone was left standing up, for that was the gift with which Sauron wanted to regain the love of his Lord.  
However, before bringing the prisoner to the presence of Melkor, Sauron had to make sure that he was in the proper mood to greet him.  
He went a bit ahead of the Orcs that led Maedhros, and looked furtively in the throne room.  
Melkor was reclined in his throne with an expression of deep boredom on his face, and he yawned from time to time.  
It was therefore the right time to break in and announce the capture, as any incident, any interruption or news, good or bad, would be received by the Vala as a better alternative than boredom.  
Sauron approached him with more discretion than usual, and this time he knelt before the throne, instead of doing the typical greeting nod.

-My Lord, I take the liberty of coming before thee even when thou didst not call me, and beg thee to forgive my boldness, for I bring thee a gift that, I am sure, will be quite to thy liking, and will make thee forget my faults from the past.

Melkor raised his eyebrows, without looking very impressed, but he wasn't angry either.  
He was so apathetic, that he didn't even feel like getting angry. He stared long at the kneeling figure of the lieutenant, with dull and expressionless eyes, and finally took the trouble to answer:

-Don't try to abase thyself to inspire my pity, Sauron. I will not forgive thee, and I'm not bought with gifts.

-I don't abase myself, my Lord, I'm just trying to be helpful. –replied Sauron, standing up again, and with a sly smirk he added:- I have brought thee Maedhros the Tall. Since Gothmog gave thee the dead father, I give thee the alive son, that will be much more useful and will give my master much more amusement, than the handful of ashes of Fëanor.

Upon hearing the name of Maedhros, Melkor straightened up on the throne, his whole interest and senses aroused again.  
If there is one thing that is predictable in the capricious gods, this is that, indeed, they can be bought with gifts.  
And Sauron knew this very well.

-But how, when didst thou capture the heir of Fëanor? I haven't given any orders about it! –he reproached him. But with those words of apparent disgust, actually died the last remnants of his bad temper.

-The servants who truly know the wishes of their masters, go ahead and fulfill them without waiting for orders.

What came now from the lips of Sauron was the sweet melody of adoration, that Melkor never tired of listening to.  
Especially when it came from arrogant beings like his lieutenant, who rarely delighted his ears that way.  
The Vala relaxed his expression and couldn't quite hide the satisfaction that he felt inside.  
Sauron had touched the proper strings, and it would take just a few more caresses to finish melting the ice.

-Now that Maedhros is in our power, at last we can have exact information about the number of soldiers available to the Noldor, and where they are located, and what they plan to do. We'll also know what happened to the brothers of Fëanor, why haven't they met with them yet, if they intend to do so, or if they abandoned the Western Lands at least. -continued Sauron, excited by the plentiful strategic opportunities that unfolded for them- And all this I can find out in a few days, if thou allowest me to do my job with the prisoner in the dungeons, before giving him to thee to use in the way thou findest most pleasant. During the three ages that thou wert imprisoned in Mandos, I didn't care just for military affairs, my Lord. There is a small part of the craftsman and inventor who I once was by the side of Aulë, who still lives in me. And we could say that this skill, this particular talent, has allowed me to design information-gathering techniques that are quite efficient and ... how could I put it? ... "imaginative".

An imperceptible smile appeared in the lips of Melkor when he noticed the perverse cynicism of his servant.

-By information-gathering techniques, thou meanst torture techniques, isn't it?

The small dilation of the fire pupil confirmed it. Sauron, pleased, stroked the whip he always carried at his side, and said quietly:

-If my Lord wants to witness the "procedure", he has just to accompany me down. I promise thee, thou wilt not be dissatisfied.

The idea sounded very tempting to Melkor.  
At least he would have some entertainment to better endure the endless hours of boredom.  
Although this would be only, of course, until the new toy broke entirely.  
He glanced sideways at Sauron, and wondered why his glacial facade seemed only to heat up when talking about torture.  
Had he, Melkor, instigated this sadism in his heart? Or on the other hand, was it something natural and inherent to the Maia? Something that was within him from the beginning, but that had been dormant until the day their paths crossed?

For a second, he laid his eyes on the cruel curve of Sauron's lips.  
A fang stuck out partially, and he could see how his lieutenant's tongue slid down the sharp point, almost like a provocation.  
Melkor recalled then the dream he once had in the halls of Mandos, and felt an uncomfortable tingling between his legs.  
He shifted in the seat, uneasy, and ordered that they brought Maedhros to his presence without further delay.

The prisoner showed clear signs of having been mistreated: the clothes torn in places, some blood on his lip, bruised spots specking his face, disarranged hair...  
Melkor growled annoyed, he didn't like his preys so crushed. It made no sense breaking the spirit of someone who had already several broken bones, because he was barely going to notice anything.  
He soon realized, however, what was the reason for such harsh treatment:  
that Elf was almost as stubborn and rebellious as his father.  
He entered the room struggling with the guards, half dragged, and spitting a mixture of blood, saliva and High Elvish curses at everyone around him.  
When he came before the throne, he refused to kneel at the feet of Melkor, and Sauron had to hit him in the stomach with the hilt of the sword to make him fall to his knees at last.

Melkor was pleased. Tearful and frightened victims bored him so much, that he delivered most of them directly to the Orcs.  
But the Noldorin prince was a violent and interesting subject, as had been his father.  
Another detail that he liked was discovering the strange colour of his hair, of a flaming red.  
He had never seen hair like that in the other Elves, and the novelty was appreciated.  
Especially because Melkor had always had some difficulty distinguishing them from each other.  
Unlike the richness and variety of forms that showed the faces of his Orcs, the Children of Ilúvatar had all such a regular and monotonous build, that Melkor sometimes wondered how did they recognize their children and wives.  
At least, Fëanor must have never faced such a problem, in view of his magnificent offspring.

-Welcome to my palace, Maedhros, high prince of the Noldor. Sorry about the mess and gloom, but the last time I invited my siblings the Valar to Angband for a party, they behaved in a quite uncivilized way. -the aforementioned turned a deaf ear to Melkor's sarcasm, and refused to look him into the eyes. Nonetheless, he couldn't prevent the brightness of the Silmarils upon the iron crown from attracting his attention for a second. Melkor smiled pointing at them: -Dost thou recognize them? I have put them on me as courtesy towards thee, so that thou feelst just like at thy father's home, now that thou art so far away. Tell me, Maedhros, where do they look better, on him or on me?

-On thee, the Dark Lord. For their light attracts the attention of all who look at them, and thus they don't have to see thy face.  
-Sauron struck the prisoner even harder than before, and he was left out of breath for a moment.

Melkor laughed:

-What's wrong with you, the ones from the house of Finwe? Do ye always have to choose the most difficult and painful path, even when they treat you with courtesy? Ye have suffered a thousand hardships to come up here to take my Silmarils, why don't ye forget about them once and for all, and put an end to so much suffering?

-Because they don't belong to thee! They are the legacy of my father, and anyone who is not of his blood, doesn't have the right to touch them.

-Oh! So your father hasn't told you the truth? What an hypocrite! Thou shouldst know that he adored me from the first moment he saw me in Valinor. He loved me so much, that he was willing to leave his wife and children to come with me to Middle Earth. He was an unfaithful and lecherous Elf, indeed... He said he would give me the Silmarils, as a token of love. But I guess he didn't take very well the fact that I went away without him, and thus he started this absurd war. As for the jewels, I just took what he gave me as a gift. They are mine in my own right.

Maedhros smiled with bitter sarcasm.

-Is that the version of the story ye tell in Angband? Because actually, our father told us something very different. He said it was thou the one who constantly stalked him, and that the day thou appearedst at our home with indecent proposals, he told thee to go back to Mandos.

-But of course! What would he tell his beloved wife and children? However, it's curious that thou mentionst Mandos. In an ironic twist, now it is he who keeps him company at the house of the dead. Tell me, isn't it funny?

-Yes, very funny. –replied the Elf defiantly. And although he was lying on the ground, still he refused to bow down his head. -As funny as an Elf closing the door in the face of the most powerful being of Arda. As funny as a spider eating the Dark Lord alive. I've heard some very interesting things about Morgoth the Enemy. If thou wantest, I can keep talking about them ...

This time, Sauron hit him in the mouth, and Maedhros screamed in pain, spitting blood and a tooth.  
Melkor had gone pale, and any trace of sarcasm that could have been in his face, was replaced by grim concern.  
He got off the throne in a hurry, and grabbed the prisoner by the hair with unusual violence, forcing him to raise his head and look into his eyes.

-It seems like thou hast inherited from thy father the beauty, the sense of humour, and the bad manners. -hissed in his ear, with reconcentrated hatred -We'll see if thou keepst any of those three things when I'm done with thee! - and towering over him, he ordered the guards: -Hang this vermin by the wrist on the highest peak of Thangorodrim! And may his torment be unending, don't let him die of hunger or thirst, and no one must listen to his ravings! Send an embassy to the Noldor, and tell them that if they want to see him again, they will have to lay down the arms.

The foul clutches of the Orcs closed around Maedhros arms, and he squirmed in disobedience.

-Thou art wasting thy time, Morgoth! An oath binds me and my brothers, and we'll rather die than renounce the Silmarils. The Noldor will never lay down their arms, we'll never give up on war!

-I know, and I don't care. In any case, I wasn't going to release thee either... Oh! And remember this in the future, Maedhros: my name is not Morgoth, it's Melkor, the Mighty Arising. -after saying this, Melkor took a knife from the guards at his side and cut a lock of that fascinating red hair.  
Then he ordered to take the prisoner away, and the last curses of the Noldo were lost in the distance, muffled behind the thick iron doors that closed at their backs.

Melkor leaned back on the throne and fiddled with the lock of hair nonchalantly, ignoring his lieutenant, who looked at him between stunned and annoyed.

-My Lord, why hast thou done that? I thought thou wert going to leave him with me for the interrogation. Of what use will he be now, hanging from Thangorodrim? I can't bring all my instruments up there every day, and he will be too weak to speak.

Melkor looked at him askew, and simply said:

-I don't know. I changed my mind. Now I want to hang him by the wrist. It's something I've wanted to do for some time.

-But my Lord, thou canst always hang him later. Let me interrogate him first, please, and then ...

Melkor interrupted him by placing the red lock in front of his face:

-Watch this Sauron. Hast thou ever seen an Elf with hair of this colour? It seems like fire. I wish our wolves were of the same colour. Here, keep it. -and he placed it in his hand.

Sauron sighed and swallowed his frustration with bitterness.  
It was no use arguing with Melkor anymore, since he was no longer listening.  
He closed his hand around the lock of hair and left.

Melkor's eyes followed him as he walked away.  
The truth is that not for all the world he would allow Sauron, precisely, to interrogate Maedhros, of all the Elves.  
Maedhros was the son of Fëanor, he had lived in the Western Lands, and he knew too much about him and his time as a prisoner of the Valar.  
Undoubtedly, the lieutenant would have asked him about military matters but... what would have prevented the Elf from letting out also other kind of details during the interrogation? Details more ...compromising?  
He could have spoken about his humiliation in the halls of Mandos, about how shamefully he had surrendered to the Judge,  
about how he had become his plaything.  
Or even worse, he could have talked about how the Silmarils burned any impure being that touched them.  
Then Sauron would necessarily notice the glove on his right hand, and would draw his own conclusions.  
Then he would also understand that his master was trapped in that body, since he wasn't able to get rid of the injuries.  
And Sauron would know about his weakness. He would know EVERYTHING.

Melkor worried at the thought of the ambitions that would wake up in the cold heart of the lieutenant, if he discovered that the Dark Lord was no longer as powerful as before.  
He would conspire against him, yes, that was certain, and therefore it was vital that such information never reached his ears.  
Melkor knew that one must be wary of enemies, but even more so of allies, especially if they are powerful and very close.  
But despite everything, he didn't want to dispense with Sauron, not yet.  
He was useful still, and there was no reason to throw him away as long as his secret was safe.

Moreover, during the next three years, the lieutenant turned out to be his main source of entertainment.  
All the fronts stayed quiet and the Noldor didn't attempt any new offensive.  
The only relevant news that reached them, was the painful journey of Fingolfin through Helcaraxë.  
Apparently, Fëanor had decided to burn the ships after landing at Middle-earth, and leave his half-brother abandoned on the other side of the world.  
Knowing this, Melkor felt a renewed respect for the creator of the Silmarils, and regretted not having brought him really to Angband, as promised. There was no doubt that he had an evil heart, and he would have been a good servant,  
after convincing him of joining the opposite side through persuasive "reasons".  
But now Fëanor was dead, and Fingolfin was still far away, so nothing of this did really matter.

Thus, with so much calm around, Melkor didn't find anything better to do than accompanying Sauron to the dungeons each day, to see him testing his "techniques" on prisoners. Down there, in the asphyxiating lower vaults of Angband,  
where no breeze of air ever reached to drive away the stench of death.  
And the Maia was honoured by the interest, more apparent than real, that his Lord showed for those tasks.  
Because usually, the work in the dungeons was despised and frowned upon among his colleagues.  
Gothmog hated it above everything else, though Sauron suspected that this was actually because of the Balrog's sensitive stomach... or so he liked to think.  
Even Melkor felt revolted by it from time to time, but in spite of this, he spent the idle hours, every day's the same, watching Sauron while he wielded the whip and opened red channels on the backs of those poor devils.

However, on more than one occasion, the Maia surprised his Lord staring captivated, not at the punishment, or at the blood, or at the prisoner that writhed in pain, but at HIM, at him himself.  
Melkor followed with the eyes each flexion of his arm, and the sweat streaming down his neck, and the twistings of his spine,  
and then the lieutenant had the impression of seeing some sort of fire burning secretly behind the black and opaque eyes of the Vala.  
At those moments, Melkor, feeling exposed, tried always to divert his attention to something else,  
and suddenly scolded him for having an instrument lying on the floor, or dirty, or rusty.  
Even when just a second ago, he hadn't been bothered in the least by the disorder, or the stains, or the rust that covered it.  
And while Sauron cleaned or picked up the object in question, he felt over his body that stare again, that was eager, and yet, strangely shy.

Unfortunately, one day Melkor had become too enraptured by the image of his lieutenant in action, and had come closer to him than was usual, and this happened just the day in which one of the new machines failed...  
In an instant, both Sauron and his Lord found themselves covered in black blood and intestines of Orc.  
Melkor stormed out the room, and spent at least two hours stuck in a hot bathtub, cursing in the ancient language of the Valar, that fortunately almost nobody understood anymore.

After that, a week passed in which he didn't talk to Sauron or went down to the torture chambers, though later he reappeared as if nothing had happened.  
But from that day on, Sauron decided that there were better things to show his Lord than his refined sadism.  
He led him then to the rooms where on numerous occasions, and especially during the chaining of Melkor, he had tried to experiment with various creatures to make them stronger, smarter or more effective.  
"Body redesign", he called it.  
And as always, Melkor smirked upon hearing the cynical euphemism.

There, on an operating table, bound by the wrists and ankles, a hapless Orc groaned in pain, struggling between life and death. He was a small one, rather useless, and showed signs of having been abused beyond what he could be expected to endure.  
Melkor looked frowning at his lieutenant; he had never liked that others took the liberty of disfiguring his creations,  
especially if they did it in such a gratuitous way.  
Sauron shrugged:

-I have tried by all means to make out of him a new breed of Orc, one that is taller and more powerful, and with better qualities for leadership. But it was to no avail, my Lord. However, my intention was good ...

Melkor interrupted his explanations with a curt wave of his hand, and told him to bring a torch to the table.  
The air of the dungeon was already very thin and the fire barely burned,  
on top of that, the smoke it produced, mixed with the strong smell of dried blood,  
had turned the atmosphere so stuffy that it was almost unbearable to mortal beings.

Under the light of the torch, the miserable creature could see the face of his creator leaning over him,  
and the inscrutable blackness of his eyes produced him terror, but also a quiet resignation.  
And then he stopped squirming and groaning.  
Melkor placed his left hand, the one he had always uncovered, over the rough neck of the Orc,  
and bent down to get to his same level.  
Approaching his mouth to the ugly ear, he began to whisper something in that language that existed before all things,  
the language in which the Ainur sang for the first time in front of Eru,  
older, even more primal than the language of the Valar, and in some ways, terrible to listen for mortal ears,  
for it follows the rules of other spheres, that those who inhabit the world aren't meant to know.

Sauron had almost forgotten that language, and now it returned to him from the unfathomable depths of time and memory.  
The voice of his master exerted over him a magnetism so strong, that he had to make a great effort to not disembody himself right there, and run to merge with the spirit of the Vala.  
However, that voice had a very different effect on the Orc, who contracted in the middle of torment,  
not because his body was tortured, but because it was his soul what was being twisted now.  
And amidst the violence and screams, Melkor remained calm all the time, and kept whispering very quietly, almost sweetly.  
Almost with love ... If not for the abject creature, at least for the act of creation.  
When he finished, he blew his breath over the mouth of the unhappy Orc and stood up.  
The left eye of Sauron still burned, inflamed by trance,  
and he had still trouble keeping his spirit quiet and trapped between the four walls of flesh.

-Dost thou see, Sauron? This is how it is done. –said Melkor simply. The Orc now lay asleep, and his breathing was placid and regular. -But thou wilt never be able to create new races in the same way that I can.

-Why dost thou say that, my Lord? -asked Sauron, very hurt by the words of the Vala.

-Because creating life is an art, not a science. And it requires a great sacrifice that thou art not willing to do. No, thou art too dead inside to understand any of this.

With that said, Melkor turned and left the dungeon haughtily, leaving Sauron sunk in utter misery.  
To his shame, the rebellious spirit would not calm down, and it still fluttered within him like a caged bird, with no other desire than following Melkor upstairs, and then inside, inside, until he reached the very core, until he discovered what he was missing .

When they returned to the dungeon the next day, a change had come over the Orc.  
He was larger and his arms had begun to develop some muscle. The fangs also seemed to have grown, and his eyes phosphoresced like two slits of evil, more fierce and bloodthirsty than before.  
Sauron checked fascinated the signs of evolution, and hundreds of plans for the new race sprang into his mind at once.  
The balance of the war would tilt significantly in their favour if they could raise Orcs like that in sufficient quantities,  
and so he explained it to his Lord.  
But Melkor seemed distracted and looked around the room, rather than at the Orc in question.

-No, no, Sauron, I do not care... I'm a little tired of these creatures, so ugly and miserable. Now I want something else... A creature with hard scales of iron, which no weapon can pierce.

-Scales... Dost thou mean like a fish?

-Yes, but one that flies.

-A bird?

-No, not a bird. Something like a snake...

Sauron felt downright lost amid the strange course of his master's reasoning.  
Melkor got close to some iron hooks that hanged from the ceiling, and took them in his hand for careful examination.

-And I also want it to have this in its claws...

-So it would be a snake with... legs?

Melkor let go of the hooks in disgust upon noticing the flesh scraps that stuck to them, and turned to face the lieutenant.  
His left eye had a questioning look on it, and the Vala watched it thoughtfully for a few seconds.

-And I want it to have fire inside. That it spits flames. –he concluded.

Sauron was trying to form a mental image of the new creature, and although he had the impression that his Lord was just improvising with its features, he realized that something very interesting could come out of there.  
A sly smile appeared then on his thin lips.

-Do not worry, my Lord. Thou wilt have thy serpent of fire. Just let me take care of providing thee with the raw materials...

Thus began the breeding of the later-called "dragons".  
And these terrible and colossal monsters, capable of dismantling an army in seconds, began nonetheless as small reptiles, as insignificant snakes.  
Melkor and his lieutenant watched them grow day by day inside the dark and secret cells,  
they watched how from the belly and thorax of the snakes emerged lumps that turned into legs,  
how their fangs filled with poison until they oozed, and how the breath of the beasts began to smell of sulfur.  
When the cells became too small, they moved them to the huge underground pits,  
and there the worms continued getting fatter, and they became cunning and warped.  
Among these, the first and most corpulent, and the most perverse, was the one they named Glaurung.  
This was the one Melkor loved most.  
However, they failed at making them develop wings and fly, but that detail could wait for later.

Those were happy days for Sauron.  
The breeding of dragons became a personal and secret project, in which only Melkor and he had a place.  
And from this work emerged a kind of intimacy between the two, as intense as it's possible with a god,  
that Sauron could have never imagined before, not even in his wildest dreams.  
Those monstrous reptiles were indeed their progeny, born of the unholy union of the Vala and the Maia.  
Melkor had conceived them, had gestated and taken them from inside him.  
But he, Sauron, had been in charge of feeding and strengthening them, of making them hard and cruel as steel,  
to protect the mysterious spark that his Lord had placed in them.  
There in the darkened caverns, together, they watched for hours the iridescent reflection of the metallic scales,  
waving as silvery ghosts under the torchlight.  
They watched the hypnotic pupils of the great snakes shining for a second in the darkness, and then disappearing.

And also there, one day, amidst the vapours and sulphides that came from the nostrils of the creatures,  
Sauron felt a warm breath caressing his neck, entirely different from the stifling air of the pit.  
When he turned, he saw his Lord leaning over him with his eyes closed, and apparently inhaling the scent of his skin and hair.  
Melkor let out a deep sigh, and opened his eyes.  
They looked at each other for a moment, and then Melkor turned around and disappeared behind a cloud of steam.  
Sauron shrugged at the eccentric behaviour of his master.  
He didn't understand why he could have done that, especially considering that after a hard day of work,  
his own body odour should not be too pleasant.  
But anyway, the fact that Melkor approached him so much should be a sign of confidence,  
and with that Sauron was satisfied.

Yes, those were happy days. But not just because of those moments of intimacy with his master.  
In addition, the reptiles that he had obtained for the experiments were none other than the abominable pets of Gothmog,  
that he raised and cared for with great trouble.  
And Sauron felt a great pleasure whenever he saw the Balrog desperately looking for his beloved animals,  
that disappeared in a misterious way every few days, and that he would never find again,  
at least in their original form.

After the three years had passed, however, the happy days got to the end.  
The first sign of something terrible that was coming, appeared in the skies of the West,  
while Sauron rode through the edge of the forest of Doriath, searching for a breach, however small, in the girdle of Melian.  
Suddenly, the black night paled, and a white light opened clearings between the leaves of the trees,  
and projected shadows that were not there before.  
The lieutenant stopped his horse and looked up, surprised.  
A huge white disc, dim and full of holes, had risen above the Great Sea, released into the air from distant Valinor.  
It seemed an ugly and sick sphere to Sauron, that had just come to bring a poor clarity in the otherwise beautiful darkness of night. It was an absurd and unnecessary addition to the sky, an insult from the Valar, no doubt.  
Unfortunately too, the object's appearance reminded him painfully of his right eye, that white and dull glass,  
and realizing this, the insolence of the Valar infuriated him.

Spurring his horse, he hurried back to Angband.  
The new light made him feel naked, as if the enemies of the West could see him better now,  
and track his movements across the plains that separated him from the Iron Mountains.  
When he entered the fortress and stood before Melkor, he found him strangely agitated.  
He paced across the room, and from time to time peered anxiously from a small window,  
to make sure whether the new heavenly body was still there.  
He barely exchanged a few words with his lieutenant, and soon he wanted to withdraw into the bedroom.  
Sauron suspected that his master would want to sleep now for a while, but he'd never understand that habit of resting that he had acquired after his return from Valinor, especially when there was always so much to do in Angband.

The second warning of the Valar, and the most ominous of the two, found Melkor sleeping again.  
The boots of Sauron, and his cries calling the Vala, echoed through the vaults of iron with unusual energy that day, and when the servants saw the expression that had the lieutenant on his face, they moved out of his way frightened.  
As there was no answer from anyone, Sauron walked hastily to Melkor's bedroom, and found a couple of Balrogs standing guard by the door.

-Halt! The Dark Lord has given orders that no one is to disturb his rest. So no one comes inside, neither dead nor alive! -warned one of the Balrogs.

And they crossed their swords in front of the door.  
Sauron was almost overcome by that anger that he usually tried to suppress so hard.

-Step aside, stupid, and go out there! Then ye will know why I come in such haste to warn the Dark Lord.

But since the guards were standing stubbornly, Sauron decided to vent his frustration once and for all,  
and taking the whip out, he crossed the faces of the Balrogs three times with it.  
Then these looked at each other, stunned for a second, and then pounced on him.

Sauron knew he had no chance against two Balrogs together, with their flaming whips and large bulky bodies,  
so he dodged the blows with feline agility and then quickly turned into a bat.  
The furious Balrogs chased him through the corridors of the fortress, while he kept hovering over their heads,  
occasionally biting them.  
They were willing to crush the lieutenant if necessary, even if he was the right hand of his master Melkor,  
because the hatred that Gothmog felt for him had passed, of course, to the rest of his troops.  
Sauron went to the lower floors and finally entered through a trapdoor into a cellar, with the Balrogs following suit.  
Once he had them inside, he disembodied, went outside, and closed the trapdoor with a spell, after recovering his usual shape. The Balrogs pummeled the door, demanding that he took them out of there immediately,  
and yelling thousands of obscenities at him, but Sauron didn't listen anymore.  
Later he would take them out of there...  
Or maybe not, it would depend on his mood.

With the path cleared at last, he returned to Melkor's bedroom and entered carefully.  
The room was plunged into darkness, and he lit a lamp that was at the entrance.  
He had rarely been in that room, only when Melkor called him to discuss some matter concerning war, and he just happened to be there at that time.  
Now the big black wooden bed occupied the center, and numerous tapestries and rugs with twisted arabesques adorned a floor and walls, that once had been bare, when Melkor didn't need privacy.

The Vala slept deeply on his left side, covered with some dark sheets,  
and Sauron could hear his calm breathing even from the entrance.  
He approached slowly, fascinated by what he had before him.  
The expression on the face of Melkor was so changed, that if it wasn't for the crown of Silmarils that still rested on his head,  
he would have had trouble recognizing him.  
There was no longer anger, or irritation, or suspicion, or pain, in any of the lines of his pale face.  
And although the effect would last only as long as the Vala remained asleep, Sauron had the impression that his Lord had returned to his original state, before the music of the Ainur introduced the first discrepancies in his soul.

But as sweet as his rest may seem, Sauron had to wake him, and he didn't know how.  
He tried to talk to him, but it wasn't enough, and he didn't want to yell at him, for that would be quite insolent.  
He noticed then that the sheet had slid down a bit, and exposed his shoulder and right arm,  
strikingly white against the dark background.  
It was strange how even sleeping, and although he seemed to have undressed completely,  
he was still wearing the black silk glove on his hand.  
That was suspicious, and Sauron felt a strong temptation to remove the glove and finally discover what it was that his Lord tried so hard to hide. But he couldn't do something so bold.  
And besides, his duty now was to warn his master about what had happened, not to pry into his secrets.  
Given his options, he decided to touch Melkor slightly on the shoulder to wake him up.  
That wasn't very respectful, of course, and in fact, Sauron had never touched his master anywhere else but on the hand to kiss him. But it was still a better idea than shout in his ear, or throw a bucket of cold water over his head.

By touch, his skin seemed incredibly soft and warm, and he could feel each one of the bones beneath.  
Sauron knew by heart those bones and joints.  
He knew how they sounded upon disjointing, or how was the feeling of dipping a sword between them.  
Now, the fact of verifying that his master had the same bones under the skin, and that he could probably feel the same pain, filled him with mixed feelings.

He had become so absorbed while stroking the joint and exploring each of its corners,  
that he didn't realize that Melkor tossed uneasily.  
Finally, the icy fingers of Sauron upon his shoulder pulled the Vala out of his lethargy.  
And when he opened his eyes and found his lieutenant there, at the head of the bed and touching him on top of that,  
all the negative emotions appeared on his face again: the anger, the irritation, the suspicion... and a little bit of fear and confusion.

- Sauron! What art thou doing here? –he exclaimed, retreating a bit. The Maia quickly put his hand away, embarrased –I had ordered that no one bothered me, how darest thou to break into my room on the sly? And why wert thou touching me, what wert thou plotting, thou traitor!?

The Vala covered his arm and shoulder again, as if he was ashamed of revealing even that little skin.  
Sauron was quick to apologize, before some horrible suspicion about him occurred to Melkor.

-I'm very sorry, my liege. I didn't want enter thy chamber this way and startle thee. But something unusual happened, a phenomenon in the sky. And I think thou shouldst go out immediately to see it.

Melkor frowned, still angry, but the strange news gave him a bad feeling,  
and he felt compelled to go out and see for himself the aforesaid phenomenon.  
He ordered Sauron to turn around and look at the wall while he dressed.  
The lieutenant obeyed, but as he heard behind him the sound of the fabrics unfolding, rubbing against each other,  
and sliding over the body of his master, he began to feel uncomfortable.  
Very uncomfortable.

Never before had he thought about imagining Melkor, precisely Melkor, naked.  
He was a Vala, a god. It was assumed that nudity was unthinkable in him.  
But now, while he heard him dressing, he couldn't stop developing mental images of him,  
and wondered how would he be under that robe, whether he would be beautiful to behold or not.  
The express prohibition of turning around and looking, only made things worse.  
Thus, when the Vala finished dressing and ordered to be taken to the phenomenon, Sauron sighed with relief.

Melkor didn't seem to notice that the Balrog guards had disappeared from the door.  
He was probably still a little bewildered by the sudden awakening.  
After touring numerous corridors and climbing long flights of stairs, the lieutenant led his Lord outside,  
where a strange clarity had suddenly changed the appearance and colours of everything.  
Melkor squinted and looked around, confused and almost unable to see anything.  
An unpleasant feeling began to boil inside him, and then, when he looked to the West, he encountered the horrible phenomenon.

A monstrous fireball, immeasurable, devoured the sky over the distant horizon of Valinor,  
and its rays slowly moved eastward, threatening to scorch everything in its path.  
There was the last fruit of Laurelin, the swollen and hypertrophied tumor that had sprouted from its branches, rotten by poison.  
It was the eye of the Valar, the eye of the Valar upon him, Melkor, and now they could see him, now they could pierce him with their stares wherever he was, they could see him inside and outside, and he would have no secrets for them anymore, no, no secrets at all.  
And when the terrible eye of fire shot through him, each and every one of his wounds burst into flames inside,  
as answering in unison to the call of the great star.  
The burn of the Silmarils, and all the other burns Mandos had caused him, triggered the most intense pain that Melkor remembered having ever felt.  
Neither Tulkas' beatings, nor the defilement of the Judge of the Valar, nor the touch of the Silmarils, nor Ungoliant closing her jaws on him, could compare to that torment.  
Melkor thought he would die right then, and would be reduced to a pile of ashes,  
as had happened with Fëanor.

Sauron heard a shrill cry beside him, and when he averted his eyes from the star,  
he saw the figure of his master huddled and trembling on the floor, in the midst of agony.  
The sunlight caused him some discomfort, but certainly nothing like what his Lord seemed to be suffering.  
Alarmed, he run to his side, covered him with his black cape, and led him back to the safe darkness of Angband.

For a few seconds, Melkor remained semiconscious in his arms, still groaning in pain,  
until the coldness of the halls and the embrace of his lieutenant began to extinguish the flames that ate into his body.  
Then he looked up, and when he saw the black figure of Sauron surrounding him with the cloak,  
as a bat with outspread wings to protect him, he pushed him with a shove,  
and walked down the hall, staggering like a dying man.  
Upon coming to the throne, he fell to the ground, rested his arms on the seat, and buried his face in them.  
Sauron watched his body shuddering, and wondered if it was possible that a Vala sobbed.  
He wasn't sure of what to do in that situation: say something to him?, comfort him?, approach him?, leave him alone?  
Therefore, he stood in the doorway, motionless and silent.  
From the back of the room reached him the faltering incoherencies of his Lord:

-The Valar... It's the Valar, they've come to get me. They want to burn me... They want to burn my skin and entrails, and pierce me with fire again... again. And their eye... their eye still looks at me... But no, no, no! They can't overcome me, I am the mightiest! I ... -then he rose and began pacing around the room as insane, screaming and cursing: -I'll finish every one of them off, everyone, everything if I need to! Even if I have to sink the whole Beleriand and drown myself in the shadows, I'll drag them along in my fall! There's no forgiveness, no forgiveness for what they have done to me! And Eru as well, I'll finish Eru off too! And let his eternal curse fall upon me, if he dares! Let him curse me for a thousand millennia, I curse them for a thousand times a thousand millennia!

He stopped abruptly in the middle of his ravings and stared at the lieutenant.  
There was madness, and intense pain, and fear in those eyes.  
Melkor didn't seem to have seen Sauron until then, and upon noticing his presence, he ran to him and grabbed his arms vehemently.

-Sauron, Sauron, my right hand, thou hast to do something! Cover that horrendous torch of heavens. I don't want it, I don't want to see it anymore, dost thou hear me? Make it go away, make its accursed light extinguish! –he demanded, shaking him like crazy.

Sauron didn't understand, what did his master expect him to do against a star of the Valar?  
He knew perfectly well that his little power was useless.  
But Melkor appeared to have suffered a deep shock because of this new light, and even now he trembled a little and looked at him with watery and feverish eyes.  
He wasn't in his right mind at that moment, and needed to calm down before he could speak with him.

-My Lord, my Lord, calm down, I beg thee. –he whispered gently- This was the first time that thou hast faced the new light, and I see that thou hast been seriously injured. But that's just because thou wert unaware. Thou hast a great power, and the Valar can't harm thee or reach thee from the distant West. Thou art safe, do not worry. And that pathetic luminaire will soon cease to torment thee, as soon as thou recoverst and regainst thy strenght.

Melkor shook his head.

-No, no, no. Thou dost not understand. They have burned me. He burned me in his halls, did horrible things to me. I cannot stand that ball of fire up there, it must be quenched whatever it takes. Quenched or... - the eyes of Melkor gave off that characteristic brightness that showed when a crazy idea crossed his mind. He released Sauron and remained thoughtful for a few seconds- ... or hide it. Hide the light! –he exclaimed triumphantly- Sauron, I want that the peaks of Thangorodrim spit much more smoke and much more black, to conceal that hideous light, to never see again that aberration! Three peaks aren't enough, I want nine, nine peaks! Build another six peaks, and make them all vomit thick clouds of filth and ash. Do it, Sauron, do it for thy Lord!

Sauron had been petrified. His master couldn't really believe that it was feasible to raise another six peaks above the fortress.

-My Lord Melkor, what thou askest me, I cannot do. Thangorodrim is already as high as it may be. If we build another six peaks, even if we build just one more, the walls of the fortress won't support the weight of the mountain and they will come down. The structure was designed to have only three peaks, not nine.

Melkor's face darkened, and a spark of anger flashed menacingly in his eyes, heralding a storm.

-What is it, it can't be done? What dost thou know about that, huh!? Thou knowest nothing, thou dost not know more than me!

-I was the servant of Aulë in past times, my Lord, and one doesn't spend several millennia besides the blacksmith and builder of the Valar, without acquiring some notions of architecture.

-Ah! So now thou art the Maia of Aulë again, isn't it? Maybe I should send thee back with him, to see if he's as merciful with thee as I am! –and Melkor leaned threatening over him.  
Sauron felt his master's evil transpiring from every pore of his skin and hitting against his face,  
but he stood firm in his convictions.

-I don't want to go back to Aulë, and if thou commandest me to build nine peaks over Thangorodrim, I will build them, and shall satisfy thy wishes as I have always done. But nonetheless, I assure thee that the mountain will fall down. Because there are physical laws in this world that no one can change, not even thou.

The corner of the Vala's mouth contracted with a nervous tic, and seeing that his lieutenant held his gaze impassively,  
and that those mismatched eyes only returned coldness and indifference, he felt such hatred towards him, that he almost struck him.  
But eventually, he restrained himself, turned around, and strode across the throne room.  
Before disappearing through the doors in the background, he gave him an ultimatum:

-Build the nine peaks of Thangorodrim, or take the place of the son of Fëanor hanging from them! -and slammed the door when he exited.

Sauron did a slight nod, and muttered to himself:

-Even when thou art wrong, my Lord, I fulfill thy orders as best as I can. And if the whole fortress has to collapse on our heads, so be it.

Thus the works of Thangorodrim, that Sauron believed to have concluded long ago, had to be resumed.  
At first he had harbored the vain hope that the madness of Melkor was something fleeting, and that he reconsidered it and stopped the construction.  
But of course, that didn't happen.  
The light of the Sun seemed to have scorched his reason as well as his body,  
and in the days that followed, his mental state was deplorable.  
He ordered to block the few small windows that there were in Angband, terrified by the idea of light seeping inside,  
and he never left his chamber while the giant disk of fire was still suspended up in heavens.

Fortunately, this disk moved across the sky like its whitish fellow,  
and when it disappeared in the West, some peace could be enjoyed again.  
However, even when it was a passing star, it made the construction works very distressing.  
Orcs were harmed by its light, and were so weakened, that often fell from the heights,  
they stumbled, they threw the stone blocks, or even died without further ado, maybe of dehydration.  
They had been forced to do without the trolls, because in their case, the rays of Sun were so harmful,  
that they turned into stone.  
And Sauron felt also uncomfortable.  
His eyes stung, he suffocated terribly under the heat, or red burns appeared on his skin.  
Only the Balrogs seemed to cope a little better.  
And the slave Elves, who, of course, welcomed the new eyesore of the Valar as something beneficial.  
Sauron spit upon their names every time he saw them looking with hope to the East, awaiting the arrival of the fireball.

To make things worse, he received word that Fingolfin and his men had finally come to Middle Earth.  
And this news caught him immersed again in absurd plans to lift mountains, when he should be organizing an army to welcome the newcomers.  
As had happened with Doriath, when they wanted to attack the Noldor, it would be too late, and they would have reorganized and become strong.

In fact, so bold and insolent was the new captain, that he dared to plant himself in front of the very gates of Angband, and knock on them, as requiring audience.  
That happened when the Sun was at the top, and its heat was so unbearable, that all the servants of Melkor had taken refuge in the lower levels of the fortress.  
Through the thick walls of iron came the echo of trumpets, and the defiant cry of Fingolfin:  
"Morgoth, coward, dare to come out and fight!"  
And at that, Melkor called his lieutenant terrified, and started saying that the Valar were outside, that they had come to chain him again, that Sauron should go out to negotiate, and over a thousand follies.

It took a while for Sauron to calm him down, and convince him that there was no Vala outside, but just a pathetic Elf whose sword could do nothing against the Dark Lord.  
Of course, when Melkor came to his senses, Fingolfin was gone a long time ago, bored of waiting and a little embarrassed by the utter indifference with which he had been welcomed.

Soon thereafter, the fourth peak of Thangorodrim was finished, and Melkor decided to take revenge on the Noldor by sending a thick cloud of smoke over the Lake Mithrim, where they camped.  
Thanks to the new crater, the vapours were blacker and thicker than before, and managed to hide the Sun, though only temporarily.  
Still, Melkor was very satisfied with the result, and this fueled his desire to continue building a peak after another.

Furthermore, Gothmog assured Melkor that he was right with everything, and that the works progressed perfectly well, just for the pleasure of going against Sauron.  
And Sauron knew that the works didn't go well at all, because cracks had begun to appear along the new summit, and even worse, along one wing of the fortress.  
They were imperceptible cracks, but they were there nonetheless, and each day they became longer and deeper.

The lieutenant warned about it several times, but didn't find listening ears in anybody.  
What Melkor wanted was that the construction was completed as soon as possible, even if they had to do it in haste,  
and what he wanted to hear was that everything went according to plan, even if it was a lie.  
So this is what did and said all the servants of Melkor.  
Eventually, Sauron tired of repeating the same warnings over and over again.  
And thus, he said nothing when the cloud of smoke cleared, and found that Maedhros had mysteriously disappeared.  
In any case, as Melkor didn't leave the fortress anymore, he wouldn't realize he was missing.  
So it was best to spare him the displeasure, and spare himself his anger.

The mirage of peace would soon come to an end and in the worst possible way.  
One morning, Melkor was in his quarters as usual, sitting on the edge of the bed, and examined with indifference a map that the spies had brought him a while ago.  
Isolated as he was now, those maps with markings that indicated the locations of the enemy, were his point of contact with the outside world, and with what happened at the borders of the kingdom.

While he compared the new map with the one from the previous week, checking if the Noldor had expanded or not,  
a strange creaking was heard through the fortress walls.  
He looked up, startled, and then discovered a crack in the wall of the bedroom, which snaked from the roof and quickly sank in the ground.  
A racket, even louder than the one caused by the Valar while they tore down Utumno, shook the entire structure.  
And a cascade of stones, rocks, iron and cement precipitated from the highest levels of the fortress, to the deepest vaults.  
Part of the room ceiling collapsed before the eyes of the astonished Vala, and a mountain of rubble and twisted beams fell from above just a few feet away.  
Had he moved from his place just a little, Melkor probably would have been crushed.

He watched the pile of rubble for a moment, puzzled and without reacting in any way,  
as if he didn't really understand what had happened.  
And as he looked at the destruction around him, a disturbing thought began to form in his head.  
What would have happened if those huge blocks of stone had fallen on him?  
He was a god and therefore immortal, about that there was no doubt. But his body, however, could be damaged,  
and he was locked inside it, so any injury he suffered would be irreversible, and he would have to endure it for all eternity.

A shiver ran down his spine, and suddenly he felt very cold.  
Never before had Melkor been so aware of his own frailty, of how vulnerable he was now,  
of how dangerous had the world become.  
He threw the maps to the ground, and left the room seized by a hellish fury.  
Balrogs and Orcs ran to and fro in a rush, stunned by the sudden collapse. When they saw their Lord shooting through the halls like an incandescent comet, they swirled around him with curiosity.  
But Melkor had no eyes for them at the time, and there was only one name that he repeated over and over again,  
roaring with such force that the intact pillars also threatened to fall down.

-Sauron! -The lieutenant turned upon hearing his name.

He was standing outside the gates of Angband, looking toward the heights, where the fourth peak of Thangorodrim had completely disappeared, and returned to its amorphous original state.  
Surprisingly, Melkor had come out as well, despite the sunlight that was already starting to burn him,  
and he was shooting a look of demented hate at him.

-Thou... Thou! I ordered thee to oversee the works, to take care that everything was fine! And what hast thou done, huh, what hast thou done!? –he bellowed, approaching him, and rising above his head like a tower of shadow.

But even then, Sauron remained calm.

-As my Lord said, I built a new peak for the mountain. And as I said to my Lord, it has come down.

-No, thou art lying, all that is a lie! This... This was thy idea and... - Melkor felt his sight failing him for a moment. The light drilled every inch of skin and flesh, and ran through his bones as corrosive liquid. In the midst of torment, and with an infinite effort, he looked up. Then he saw all that had happened to the mountain, and a new unpleasant surprise was added to his discomfort- Where is my Elf, where is the Elf with the red hair!? Sauron, where hast thou carried him?!

-My Lord, I have no idea of what ...

-Silence, traitor, silence! This is all thy fault, thou has built my mountain wrong on purpose! I know what thou wantest, Sauron, thou wantest to put an end to me and take my place. Thou wantedst to crush me under the rubble, isn't it true? And sit on my throne, and place my crown over thy hateful eyes!

Melkor's gloved hand closed around the neck of the Maia with steel strenght, and the lieutenant gasped for air.

-No, I would never do that. Replacing thee, the most powerful god of Arda, is such an absurd and impossible goal, that I would never waste my time with it.

Melkor squinted. How could he trust that ambitious Maia?  
How could he trust someone that wore on his face the two heaven lights that caused him so much pain:  
the pale orb of the Moon, and the fiery globe of the Sun?  
His hand squeezed his neck even harder, and Sauron noticed his trachea and Adam's apple giving way to pressure.

-Foul traitor, thou knowest neither honour nor loyalty! –he hissed- But I'll teach those things to thee. Just as I ripped thee from the arms of the Valar, as I turned thy light into darkness, and molded thee to my taste, now I will make of thee a humiliated and fearful servant. I'll teach thee to respect me! And the first step of thy learning will be that of punishment. A terrible punishment, befitting of a terrible betrayal!

Saying this, Melkor dragged him into the fortress, still holding his neck.  
The Vala shoved Sauron through the spacious halls of Angband, and a host of Orcs gathered on both sides to witness the lieutenant's fall from grace.  
Many had waited eagerly for this moment, since they still felt the lashes of the black whip on their backs.  
And upon seeing the hated torturer thus held by the neck, like an animal, they were greatly pleased.  
The boldest among them even tried to point out at him and laugh,  
but changed their minds when they saw the constricted pupil of his left eye.  
After all, Sauron never forgot insults, and his punishment wouldn't last forever.

Melkor finally stopped in front of a thick wall in the lower floors, and threw Sauron to the ground in front of it.

-Now, worm, thou wilt pay for everything thou hast done. For thy pride, and thy rebellion, and thy lack of loyalty. And thou wilt suffer the same punishment that was imposed on me by the Valar, and wilt know what it is to be locked in a hole during whole ages, while the world around forgets about thee little by little.

Right after, Melkor ordered them to bring him his mace Grond, and he opened a hole with it, not very big, on the outer side of the wall, leaving a space in which he planned to immure the unfortunate Maia.  
However, it wasn't necessary to explain his intentions to Sauron, as he had already guessed the thoughts of his master.

-My Lord, if this is what thou wantest to do with me, that's fine. I just want thee to know that I've never meant any harm to thee, and that I feel no resentment, because I know it's fear and pain what makes thee act like this. –he said from the floor, his voice cracking but quiet.

-Fear and pain! Indeed. And that's all thou wilt feel over the next centuries, until I get bored of the punishment. If I ever do. Now get naked! –he ordered, pointing an accusing finger at him.

Sauron began to unbutton his shirt, and the mischievous smiles of the Orcs became even more apparent.

-No, not thus, stupid! -shouted Melkor- Thus!

And with a sudden movement of his hand, he pulled away the carnal envelope of the Maia,  
and he was reduced to his bare minimum: a pale and trembling ghost.

The look of his Lord pierced him painfully, and all the Balrogs around, that could still see him,  
chuckled and muttered in a low voice. Gothmog was in the front row, with a broad smile of satisfaction on his face.  
And Sauron felt his pride humbling a little, but only a little.  
There wasn't much room left in him for shame, since everything was occupied with the sadness of being rejected by the only being he loved.

With nothing more to say to each other, the former lieutenant entered the gap in the wall,  
and the slabs started hiding the torchlight as they were put in place.  
The last thing he saw were the angry eyes of Melkor,  
and the disappointment they showed was a last stab at his now fragile spirit.  
When all the stones were placed, Melkor sealed the wall with a curse,  
and Sauron was left in total darkness.

From that moment onwards, time became meaningless to him, and he only lived in an eternal moment of cold and despair.  
Stripped of the body that had hitherto protected him and served him as a barrier,  
his spirit felt more intensely than ever the desire of being near his master,  
but now more than ever, he had been separated from him.  
The Ainur hadn't been created to be alone.  
They were thoughts born from Eru, and every thought tends always to associate with other related thoughts.  
Without the filter of flesh, Sauron understood this then, with bitter clarity.  
And in the midst of darkness, pressed inside the narrow space, he recalled again the song of Melkor,  
the one he had sung in the beginning of times.  
And he murmured it to himself, trembling with grief and love.

That was how Sauron, the proud lieutenant of Angband, received his punishment for a crime he hadn't commited.  
And the world forgot about him for a while.


	4. Pulsation

**And here's the last chapter, which I thought would be the shortest of all but ended up being the longest by far.  
Some warnings as usual: violence, torture, PORN (well, kind of), and Melkor being a complete bastard.  
There's slash in this one (at this point you know who x who, right?)**

**Many thanks to all my readers and reviewers this far, both registered users and guests. And many special thanks to Zlu and Luff for all their support and promoting, and because I think they've spent more time correcting the previous chapters than I myself ;)**

**Well, that's all. I hope you enjoy this one, and as always, reviews are very much welcomed.**

**Chapter 4. Pulsation**

For what seemed to have been nearly three ages, Sauron had remained locked in the narrow gap in the wall. Three ages during which he hadn't even had the company of a chain, or of the hard flagstones of the wall, since he didn't have a body to feel them stabbing at his backbone.  
Deprived of all senses, the only thing that he saw and heard inside his head was Melkor repeating over and over how very disappointed he was with him.  
To the point that, when the stones that enclosed him were removed one day to let in the light, and the tall dark figure of Melkor rose in front of the hole, Sauron thought at first that it was again the same persistent image of his memories.  
But this Melkor didn't look at him with angry eyes, nor expressed his disappointment. If anything, one could say that his eyes reflected some discomfort, that his gaze was somehow elusive, and thus Sauron knew that the image before him was real, and not a product of his memory.

Melkor ordered the Orcs that had opened the wall to withdraw, and once alone, face to face with his lieutenant again, he gave him back his body, clothes and sword.  
Sauron knelt before his master in gratitude. And when Melkor offered his hand, he kissed it with unusual eagerness, since that was the first thing he touched in a long, long time.  
Now, the flesh and bones that covered his spirit seemed to him strangely heavy, they almost oppressed him. But he got used to them quickly, and the heat that provided, and the strength, and the contact with the world were welcomed with satisfaction.  
Sauron stood in front of Melkor; the face of the Vala was expressionless.

-How long has it been, my Lord?

-Sixty years.

-It seemed much more to me.

-And yet, it has been much less. –sighed Melkor, and motioned to him to come his way.

While touring the undergrounds of Angband, he filled him in everything that had happened during his imprisonment:

-The years are shorter since the Valar raised that hideous fireball in the sky. Everything ages faster, everything disappears faster, as if time had been compressed. And the lesser children of Ilúvatar, the men, who awoke with the new light, have suffered the same fate as the other things. Their lives are so fleeting that they barely suffice them to do anything worthwhile; one moment they're here, and the next moment they're gone, in a blink. However, during these years I've been sending emissaries to the East to speak to them about me, so they know the true god of Arda and worship me, because even if they are despicable creatures, I prefer to have them on my side rather than on the one of those nasty Elves . Especially now that the Noldor proliferate everywhere. Oh, Sauron, if thou hadst seen it! They have founded kingdoms here and there, in the South, in the East, in the West, and even in hidden places that nobody knows. In Arda, in MY Arda!

-It's a shame, my Lord.

-Yes, a shame ... –murmured Melkor. Sauron glanced at his master. There was something strange about him, as some kind of hot tension enveloping his body, as a magnetic field vibrating around him. And his vital flow was so palpable, it was almost obscene. However, the Vala continued talking, oblivious to these reflections of his lieutenant: -Because of all this, I've decided to pay a short visit to the men of Hildórien, to those primitive beasts, so they can see me in all my glory and fall to their knees before me. Then they will be loyal to me forever, and no Elf will be able to corrupt them. Meanwhile I nee ... uh ... I **want** thee to stay in charge of Angband and command the legions in my absence. That's the only reason I brought thee out of the hole, and not because I have forgiven thee. Keep it clear.

Sauron scratched his head, unsure of having heard right.

-One moment, my Lord. Dost thou mean that thou art going to "personally" visit those men? That thou art going to leave Angband?

Melkor stopped short, and folded his arms a little bit offended.

-Of course I'm going to personally visit them! How could the Secondborn contemplate my majesty if I didn't!?

-But ... what about sunlight?

The Vala made a dismissive gesture with his hand.

-Bah! Do not think that all this time that thou hast been inactive I haven't done anything. I got used to that light already. It's disgusting, yes, but I can endure it. The Valar, once again, have failed in their attempts to restrain me.

-Even so, my Lord, let me accompany thee on thy journey to the East. Any other captain can stay in charge of Angband.

Melkor felt very irritated by the tone of concern that he noticed in the words of his lieutenant.

-No, I'll go alone! Without thee, without Balrogs, and without Orcs. I don't need an escort, the world is mine, the world is part of me! What could possibly happen?

Sauron chose to change the subject quickly. Anyway, Melkor was right. What could befall to him, that some trolls of the forest kidnapped him? He should be glad that his master had recovered the confidence to go outside, instead of worrying about imaginary dangers.

-All right, my Lord, then I will go to the barracks of the Orcs and start organizing the troops. I'm sure they'll be very happy to see me again. -he smiled, with a malicious twinkle of his left eye, and began to climb the stairs towards the main gate of the fortress.  
But the hand of Melkor on his shoulder stopped him.

-Hmmm ... Sauron, I don't think that thou wilt want to go outside over there...

The lieutenant blinked puzzled, and the sombre expression of his master gave him a very bad feeling. The Vala then took him to one of the highest towers, and made him look through a narrow window that overlooked the plain of Ard-galen, in the South.  
What Sauron saw out there seemed so shocking to him, that at first he wanted to believe that it was just a mirage: Rows and rows of Noldorin warriors were deployed across the plain and got lost in the horizon, amid a sea of tents and banners that glowed with blue, golden and silver glitters under the blazing midday Sun. It was the enemy army, and it was there a few meters from them, rising defiantly in front of the very gates of Angband.  
They were surrounded, no!, sieged, definitely sieged.  
Sauron's vision blurred, and he felt the recently recovered strenght of his body failing him for a moment.

-But what ... What happened here, my Lord!?

Melkor moved away from the small window, elusive, and bit his lower lip with reluctance to answer.

-There was recently a battle and ... Well, the Noldor have called it the "Glorious Battle", with the insolence that characterizes them, and let's say that ... Well, it was a somewhat unfavourable battle for us.

-somewhat unfavourable!? My Lord, we are surrounded! How could something like this happen? Our army was the largest and most powerful of all Middle Earth, how is it possible that a handful of Elves have defeated us in such a shameful way, and on top of that have started a siege without anyone preventing it!? Who has been in charge of the war, so that a disaster like this has taken place?

Melkor shot a murderous look at him, and Sauron realized that he had spoken too much. Obviously, it was Melkor himself who had led the campaign, which was tantamount to saying that organization and strategy were conspicuous by their absence. For though the Vala was an expert in causing volcanic eruptions, for example, not all things in the world followed the same logic than volcanoes. And war was one of those things. War, despite what some might believe, was a science, not an art.

Realizing all this, Sauron could not help feeling some perverse satisfaction deep down in his heart, even when he sicerely regretted what had happened.  
His master had tried to dispense with his services and this had led him to utter defeat, so now Melkor had no choice but to admit that he "needed" his lieutenant. And even if he, of course, would never admit it aloud, the truth was that he knew it well inside of him, and this was the actual reason for releasing him.  
Viewing his master so ashamed now, meant a petty revenge for Sauron, that compensated him for the unfair punishment he had suffered for so long.

-How dost thou plan to leave the fortress for thy journey, my Lord, if we are surrounded? -he asked, with undisguised malice.

-Through a tunnel we dug, that goes to the North. There are no Noldor there, and we're also protected by the mountains. By taking a detour one can easily go anywhere, and that is the path our troops and spies follow now. Do not think that I don't have alternative plans for any eventuality, Sauron. -Melkor approached the little window again, and peered nervously at the enemy army. –Look at them camped over there, conspiring against me! In a while they'll start throwing stone blocks at us with their catapults. They do it every day. But don't worry, Sauron, if they harass us, thou only needst to send them a cloud of poisonous smoke from the peaks of Thangorodrim, and watch how they suffocate like insects. Anyway, I'm leaving now. Thou art responsible for the fortress, and it's better that when I come back I don't find it as ruinous as the last time I was absent.

With that said, the Vala went to the entrance of the tunnel, and Sauron accompanied him to bid him farewell and wish him luck on his journey.

-I don't need luck, stupid! Luck is for the weak. –growled Melkor, as he pushed the heavy slab that covered the secret entrance.

-At least allow me to give thee some advice, my Lord: While thou walkst on the outside, thou couldst stay disembodied. That way thou wilt travel faster, and nobody will know that thou hast left thy throne. If the enemies learn that thou art absent in Angband, they may initiate an unexpected offensive, and without thee by our side we'll be vulnerable.

Sauron had carefully chosen his words so this time, even while worrying about the welfare of his master, it gave the impression that it was actually for his own welfare that he feared. Melkor's mood softened a bit, feeling flattered.

-Don't worry, I'll disembody myself and no Elf will see me. Thou needst not to feel insecure without thy Lord.

But nonetheless, Melkor entered the tunnel still covered by his physical body, and Sauron raised an eyebrow with suspicion.

-My Lord, wert thou not going to ...?

-What, in front of thee!? Don't even dream about it! I will disembody when no one is watching me, of course. Now farewell! -and he closed the tunnel again, disappearing behind the large stone slab.

Sauron sighed. He was left again as the main responsible for the fortress, and this time, accompanied by the numerous hordes of the Noldor.  
Perhaps he wasn't so bad inside that dark hole, after all.

"I hope that this time he won't be absent for three ages as well. And that when he comes back, there won't be any monstrosity from the exterior void eating him. As much as it pains me to admit it, Melkor has an undeniable talent for getting into trouble."-he cursed, as he headed to the deeper levels of Angband.

There, in the suffocating chambers of the furnaces, was where the Orcs had been relocated. An unfortunate choice of accommodation, as the heat was too much for the creatures, and left them weak and numb. A few Balrogs swarmed around as well, whipping some wayward Orc from time to time. And in the background, under the great vaults, Sauron could see the huge body of Glaurung, monstrously grown since the last time he saw him, and that now rested quiet with a chain around his neck, sending clouds of sulfur through his nostrils.  
The faces of the bystanders showed very little joy upon discovering that the lieutenant was again on active service. And many of the Orcs who had mocked him when Melkor dragged him by the neck, lowered their heads now, trying to hide their faces from him. However, in spite of their dissimulation, the poor wretches felt the burning gaze of the eye stabbing at them. And everyone knew what that meant.  
Gothmog was inspecting one of the furnaces, and upon feeling the cold breeze that had just entered the chamber, turned around in surprise. Then he saw the black figure that he had hoped not to see ever again.

-Gorthaur ...-he gritted between his teeth, and approached him in a threatening cloud of sulfides. Sauron gave him a crooked smile, and one of his fangs gave off a mocking gleam.

-I'm glad to see thee again, Gothmog.

-Really? I was more glad the last time I saw thee, Sauron: naked and enclosed in a wall. But I guess thou hast missed me inside that hole, dost thou not?

-Not as much as ye have missed me, so it seems. –and Sauron gestured with his arm to point at the scene around.- I disappear for a few years and everything falls apart. Ye are a bunch of good-for-nothings.

Gothmog became a little ignited at this, and the flames that surrounded him acquired a blue tone for an instant, but still he restrained his anger.

-I get the impression that Melkor has released thee too early, lord lieutenant. Sixty years haven't been enough to improve thy attitude.

-Sixty years haven't been enough to improve thy smell either, dear Gothmog.

This time the Balrog reached for the whip, his patience having finally run out with the affronts of his rival, but Sauron stopped his arm.

-Watch out what thou art going to do. Thou art now before the commander in chief of Angband. Melkor has left me in charge temporarily, so thou wilt not want to make me angry, right?

-I want to hear that from the lips of our master Melkor himself!

-Unfortunately, our master Melkor is not here to confirm it, since he has gone to the East, to visit those "Secondborn".

Gothmog shook his huge head in disbelief.

-Impossible! The master never leaves the fortress.

-Well, he has. He just left in a hurry, almost secretly, without even waiting for the Sun to set ... -and while Sauron said this, a sudden thought came into his mind, a thought that unsettled him.

Grabbing Gothmog by the arm, he dragged his heavy mass to a separate corner, where they were safe from prying ears, and then confessed the idea that had just occurred to him:

-Listen, Gothmog, I was thinking ... What if Melkor hasn't really gone to visit the men? What if he has gone away forever and has abandoned us here in Angband, on our own, once lost all hope of breaking the siege?

The eyes of the Balrog widened in astonishment, and from his dropped jaw emerged a cloud of stupefaction.

-No, no, no, that cannot be! The master would never leave us stranded. He is our Lord, he can't do that!

Sauron looked down, and felt a great pain when he pronounced the following words:

-He is Melkor. If there's someone who can do whatever he wants, that's him.

The Balrog and the lieutenant exchanged glances, and each of them saw the same fear and the same doubt reflected in the other's eyes.

Nonetheless, Melkor had headed indeed to the East, and during the rest of the day, he swept across plains, climbed mountains, descended valleys and traversed forests, with the persistent light of the Sun chasing him all the time.  
With the arrival of dusk he halted a moment and sighed with relief. The skin of his bare hand showed some red marks of burns, and he imagined that his face would look the same. But they would soon disappear, and also, he had managed to reach Hildórien just during sunset, as planned.  
In the green valley that lay at his feet, he saw the miserable huts of human settlements. And there, on a hill, and with the dying rays of the Sun lighting him up from behind, he spoke to the astonished congregation of men, in all his black and terrible majesty.  
Those poor creatures fell to their knees before him, and worshiped him fearful, unable to resist the sparkle in the eyes of Melkor, and almost hurt by his divine presence and the glow of the Silmarils.  
Melkor grinned and watched them for a while. Apparently, the rumours were true: to make the Secondborn, Eru had mixed all the other races of Arda into one. Indeed, some of those men had the demeanor of Elves, and were almost as beautiful as them. Others, however, were ugly and grotesque like Orcs. And in general, all of them were covered with hair, both the men and the women, like dwarves, and some even sported bushy beards.

"Hum! They have hairs even on their legs and arms. Such coarse beings! Clearly, Eru only created them in order to feel superior to them. How can a god be so petty and self-conscious?" -pondered the Vala.

Then, a shrill cry pulled him out of his thoughts:

- Oh, mighty god Melkor, creator of the earth and the skies, of the seas and the mountains, of the Sun and the Moon, accept this sacrifice that we have prepared for thee!

A woman with untidy and disheveled hair was the one who cried thus, and drove before him a plump and rosy animal that Melkor had never seen before.  
Two men made a pyre with logs on which they placed the animal, and once there, killed it by opening its throat with a knife. The beast screamed and kicked horribly, and the logs became soaked with its blood.  
After this, the men brought torches, set fire to the pyre, and the flames soon spread over the corpse and started consuming its flesh.  
A nauseating smell of melted fat and scorched skin rose to the nostrils of Melkor, and he felt his stomach churning. Just in case that wasn't enough, the men put out the fire after a few minutes, cut a piece of smoking meat, and offered it to the Vala for eating.

Melkor didn't understand anything. Why did these humans believe that he, precisely he that was a god, would need to eat that?  
Of course, Melkor had tasted food and drink on more than one occasion, and had discovered that they gave him a pleasant feeling in the mouth. But they had also caused him other effects in the organism after a while, less pleasant effects, so he didn't use to indulge in those pleasures anymore. And in any case, if he had to indulge in them, he would rather do it with something better than a piece of burnt and undercooked meat.  
Thus, he dismissed the sacrifice with a gesture of his hand, although he was pleased by the cruelty of those men, who hadn't found a better way to show him their love, than killing a poor and defenseless animal.

Seeing that the god didn't accept the sacrifice, a murmur of concern and disputes rose among the humans, who feared having offended the Vala and having earned with it the eternal damnation. Quickly, another group of ragged men drove before him the idol they had made to worship him, and asked for mercy.  
Melkor laughed to himself upon seeing the crude idol made with branches, that was intended to represent him: they had put four arms on it, some kind of horns on its head, and what seemed to be bat wings. No doubt, the emissaries that he had sent to the East had made a very imaginative description of their Lord.  
Now some of the humans began to sing songs of praise, that one couldn't say if were directed to him or to the idol, and Melkor started getting bored.

-Men, be still for a moment and listen to the god of Arda! -he shouted, raising his arms and giving off a brief flash of fire- I didn't come here to receive gifts from you, but just the opposite. I'm here to grant you all your wishes, to free you from the yoke of your enemies and those who oppress you, the Elves! Ye must not trust them, men, they are blasphemous beings that have rejected me, Melkor, the Mighty Arising, and instead worship false gods. The Elves envy and hate you, because they know that I love you and not them. I ask you only this: that ye are always faithful to me and turn away from the Elves, that ye make war to them wherever they are and that ye show no mercy. If ye do so, I will give you everything ye want, because I'm a very generous god.

The crowd got excited upon hearing this offer, and there were many who began to beg:

-God Melkor, protect us from diseases! -asked an old man.

-I will protect you from them.

-And make our crops abundant and our livestock fertile! -shouted a man from the back rows.

-I will save you from hunger too.

-And drive the cold and frost out of our land. Make the Sun shine even more brightly! -cried a little girl.

-Yes, I will also make the Sun shine more... -promised Melkor, biting his tongue in annoyance at having to say that. -I'll give you everything! But remember, only if ye fight the evil Elves. And now be attentive, because I will choose one of you and bring him with me to my palace in the North, built on the clouds, where he'll be blissful forever!

In saying this, everyone was struck dumb and held his breath, eager to be the chosen one. In the silence that fell over the valley, one could almost hear the beating of hundreds of hearts that waited impatiently the decision of the god.  
Melkor looked over the glances of all of them and searched their souls.  
No matter that he looked at a pair of blue or brown or green eyes, he always saw the same thing: superstitious fear and reverence. None of those interested him.  
But then he met a pair of gray eyes, and he discovered something new in them: besides the fear and adoration common to his kind, he also perceived a deep love, and purity of intent, and some ambition.  
Just the perfect qualities to turn the corruption of the individual into a funny issue.  
Melkor gestured for the subject to come closer, and he approached him trembling, and went up the hill next to the Vala. Melkor bent over him, and the man stepped back dazzled by the Silmarils, but the black eyes of the god pierced him and he was rooted to the spot. An imperceptible smile crept into the pale lips of the Vala; the chosen man was of rather delicate complexion, neither very young nor very old, and more beautiful than repulsive.  
Melkor stroked his face lightly with his uncovered hand, and the man shuddered at the touch of his fingers. Especially because he had felt the caress in the soul, not the skin.

-Tell me, little creature, wouldst thou like to come with me? Wouldst thou like to enjoy a life a hundred times longer than that of the other men, and elude death and old age for many years, and spend those years in the company of a god? -Melkor's voice broke into the ears of the man with velvety softness, even more gentle than the caress that ran inside of him. How could he resist?

The man knelt before him and kissed the hem of his robe.

-Yes, my lord and master Melkor, the only true god of Arda! Take me with thee and dispose of my body and my soul as thou pleasest. I will serve thee forever.

Then two women, the elderly mother of the man and his sister, begged Melkor to let them bid farewell to him, and he granted their wish. The women embraced the man with tears in their eyes, partly of sadness at his departure, and partly of deep joy at the grace that had been given to their son and brother.  
They hugged for a long time, until Melkor grew impatient, itching to return to Angband, and pulled his new servant away from the arms of the women. He then dismissed his followers, promising to send them emissaries once in a while, wrapped the chosen one in his cloak of darkness, and disappeared into the shadows, just as the last rays of the Sun sank below the horizon.

If the way out was quick and easy, the way back, burdened as he was with that creature, became extremely tiring for Melkor.  
No matter how much he urged him to speed up: as soon as he became a little bit distracted, the human was left far behind, lost in the lush grove of the tangled forest, or sunk in a swamp, and Melkor had to go back to search for him. Also, every so often he had to stop so the creature could eat and rest, and thus the trip threatened to turn neverending.  
In former times, Melkor could have turned into a light beam and transport him wherever he wanted in just an instant. But now he was limited by a pair of legs as well, and he certainly was not going to carry the human in his arms. He would rather leave him to die abandoned in some wasteland.  
However, since they had gone already a long way towards Angband, Melkor decided to be patient and finish the trip with the loot, better than without it. That way, when the peaks of Thangorodrim and the rampart of the Iron Mountains were cut at last before them, two and a half weeks had passed.  
The man looked confused at the steep walls and the black fortress excavated in the roots of rock. And fear seized him when the three peaks expelled a cloud of smoke and ash, and the ground trembled, shaken by flowing magma.  
An icy hand touched his neck, and the voice of Melkor caused him an even greater shudder than the one that went through the mountains:

-What is it, my little servant? Dost thou not like Angband, the kingdom of thy god? -the man raised his eyes with an interrogative expression.

-Angband? My Lord, I thought thou livedst in a palace built over the clouds and full of light.

Melkor's laughter froze his marrow.

-Did I say that? Well, what I meant is that I lived inside an underground fortress of cold stone and stifling heat, where light never comes. That I meant, I hope I didn't disappoint thee. -and the ice finger entered his vertebrae and went across his entire spine.

When Melkor burst in the fortress with his new toy, everyone felt a huge relief. Although Sauron had only confessed his fears to Gothmog, the suspicion that Melkor would never return had spread quickly among the other captains and troops, so seeing his master again took away a bitter burden from them. And not just because he hadn't abandoned them, but also because that meant that Sauron's leadership came to an end.  
The lieutenant still resented them since the day they locked him inside the wall, and had retaliated by putting the Orcs to work at top speed in the outer fortifications, with the excuse of better defending the fortress against catapults. With Melkor back in charge, the wretches harboured the hope that the hard works would soften a little, or rather, that they would fall into oblivion.  
A guard of Orcs and Balrogs came to greet the just arrived master, and between the uniform rows of soldiers Sauron stepped forward and bowed down to him as welcome, giving him a brief report of what had happened during his absence.  
Then he noticed the insignificant being that was half hidden behind the robe of Melkor, and came closer with curiosity to examine him. The human seemed intimidated by that uneven stare and the sharp fangs, bared in a grin.

-I suppose this is one of the Secondborn, isn't it, my Lord? -Melkor nodded, and pushed the human forward, so everyone could see him well. Sauron took a look at him from different angles and under his clothing, which disturbed the creature. -There's nothing special about him. He looks rather as an ugly Elf. -he concluded.

Gothmog approached as well to observe the human closely, but upon seeing the huge body of the demon looming over him, and his black mouth exhaling vapours against his face, the man curled up on the floor terrified and covered his eyes. The guttural laughter of the Balrog made him tremble even more.

-Look at him, Gorthaur! He's more frightened by me than by thee.

-That's because he can recognize a horrendous face when he sees it.

Gothmog uttered an obscene curse between his teeth, and then, turning to Melkor he asked:

-What's the name of this being, my Lord?

Melkor made a gesture of indifference.

-I don't know. I don't remember. Brum, son of Grum. Or Bront, son of Tront ... All of them are called the same, does it matter?

Then the man looked up shyly, and addressing the Vala, he muttered with humility:

-My Lord Melkor, my name is Gra ...-but he couldn't finish the sentence, because Melkor struck his face, and he fell to the ground.

-Silence, thou scum! Names are reserved for Orcs and for some animals. Thou art beneath them, so thou wilt not need any name in Angband! -he roared angrily.

The man remained on the ground, staring stunned at the blood dripping from his nose, unable to believe what had just happened. The god that he worshiped, whom he had entrusted his life, had beaten him for no reason, and now the panic began to creep through his veins, slowly, like a stream of frost.  
Sauron and Gothmog were also surprised. Melkor almost never resorted to physical violence personally, let alone for an offense that wasn't even that, since the human hadn't disrespected him so far. In fact Melkor, as the god he was, had always despised brute force, considering it something typical of Orcs and trolls, or even worse, of Tulkas himself.  
That's why, seeing now his master beating an inferior being for no apparent reason, seemed very strange to their captains ... strange and gratuitous.

That slap was the definitive warning for the human guest, that his stay in Angband wouldn't be accompanied by the infinite bliss and unearthly joy that he had expected at first. However, Melkor kept his promise in part, and granted the man a longevity far beyond the usual of his race, and slowed the decay of his flesh to the point that he seemed to never grow old, or at least do it very slowly.  
Of what nobody had warned him, was that along with the gift of a long life, the corruption of the Dark Lord would also enter his soul, and that this would have such visible effects on his body. From overnight, the hair which had been raven-black, fade to gray, and both hairs and colour disappeared completely from his skin, leaving behind a bloodless and cold surface. His eyes became bloodshot and his lips, black as his tongue and nails, retracted to show a beast-like set of sharp and yellow teeth.  
Horrified by these changes, the human turned up before the throne of Melkor, on his knees, and wept bitterly, appealing to the clemency of the Vala to give him back his original appearance and let him return with his kin. But Melkor laughed aloud:

-Unhappy creature! I've tied thee to me with stronger ties than those of the flesh, stronger than those that tie thee to the other men. And those are ties that nothing and no one but me can undo. Thou wilt live as long as I dispose, and thou wilt die when I dispose. And thy life will pass according to my whims. Why dost thou want, anyway, that I give thee thy human semblance back? Didst thou pretend to find a wife here in Angband? There's no love between these walls! But if thou ever complainst again about thy luck, I will deliver thee to my hordes of Orcs for thee to become the wife of them all. No doubt, they will find thee still desirable...

Then, upon seeing the brief spark of lust in the eyes of the Vala, and the evil smile that began to take shape in the corner of his mouth, the human fled in terror and dared not to approach him again.  
From that day on, he crawled through the darkest corners of the fortress, trying to hide from the Orcs and monsters that tormented him at every turn.  
And he was very miserable.

In that way found him Sauron the day he went down to the armory: cowering in a corner among the spears and dusty shields, sobbing with no consolation and no noise.  
The lieutenant stood in front of him and stared for a while.

-Why art thou crying? –he finally asked, with curtness.

-Because I'm alone. Because I miss my family, my beloved mother, my sweet and beautiful sister. And because it's always cold in here, and I find nothing but pain around me. –he said between hiccups, trying to control himself in vain. Then he added: -And because I don't understand.

-What dost thou not understand?

-I don't understand why the god Melkor created us just to make us suffer later. Why does he do this to me, if I am his son? Why does he hate me so much? -the human covered again his disfigured face with his hands, and Sauron half-smiled wryly .

-He does it because he didn't create thee. It was Eru, so it is he whom thou hast to complain to. He brought you into this world deceived, and Melkor has simply shown thee just how bitter life actually is.

The man looked at him with wet and confused eyes.

- Eru? Who is Eru? The god Melkor told us that he had created the humans.

-Of course he said so...

The creature waited a moment for the lieutenant to give him a clearer explanation, but he stayed impassive. Sighing with grief upon understanding the deception, the human lowered his head resigned, and a new tear began to form on the edge of his eyes. Then he heard the sound of approaching boots and a black cape waved before him, sending a blast of cold air on his face.  
Some fingers, icy like the touch of death, brushed his cheek and wiped the tears that fell across it. It was the first time that someone touched him with softness since he had arrived in the fortress, and even when the caress caused him comfort and terror in equal measure, he wanted it to last a little longer.

-It's a cold, hard, and ruthless world, isn't it? –whispered the lieutenant with cruel gentleness.- Ye men aren't made for it. No, ye are flowers of a single day. In the morning ye awake covered in dew, at noon ye blossom, and in the evening ye give off your perfume and think ye will last forever. But with the coming of dusk ye have withered already, and your gray and dry petals begin to fall off. When night comes, nothing remains of you but a blackened stem. And the next day no one remembers you anymore. -Sauron picked up one of the tears with his finger and watched it with indifference, before dissolving it between his thumb and forefinger, and then he added:- I've heard that many of your women die upon bringing new offspring to the world. Tell me, is there anything more futile than that, is there anything more comical and tragic? Your race will not last long on Middle Earth. In a hundred years, ye will have disappeared with no doubt. How could ye thrive, ye with your ridiculous existences, in a world populated by gods, by immortal Elves, by bloodthirsty Orcs and trolls of stone? And still thou ... Thou art lucky in a way. Not everyone can appreciate the gifts of Melkor, but thou wert granted a very special grace, and perhaps by the time thy race comes to its end, thou wilt be still in the world to witness it, and even to survive it. All thou hast to do is staying by my side and keeping away from Melkor, because if he catches thee, be sure that he will hurt thee greatly. But if thou stay under my shadow thou wilt be safe. And since thou dost not like thy new face... thou canst get this, and cover at least the half of it. -saying that, the lieutenant chose a helmet among the old armors and threw it at the feet of the human.

It was a bone helmet, made with the top of the skull of some horrendous animal. The man looked stunned at it for a few seconds, but then he turned to Sauron with gratitude.

-My lord, thou art so good with me. Thanks for protecting me.

-Don't be mistaken! I'm almost as cruel as the Lord Melkor. -snapped the lieutenant with stern visage.- But I'm also more predictable. If thou followest my orders and dost not disappoint me, thou wilt have nothing to be afraid of.

-I will follow thy orders and I will be faithful to thee, my lord Sauron.

-Call me "master". -Sauron had always wanted to say that.

-Yes, my master. -said the man, looking at him with adoration.

And he put the helmet on his head, which left him with only his mouth exposed, and his two red eyes peering through the sockets of the skull.

From then onwards, the man didn't separate from Sauron even for a second. He followed him come rain or shine, watching every one of his movements and words, and learning all he could about how to deal with the Orcs, how to give orders and enforce punishments, and how to organize work.  
At first, he was content to be a silent witness of the acts of his master, but gradually the lieutenant started giving him autonomy and entrusting him with minor tasks.  
Then Sauron was pleasantly surprised to find that this strange creature could not only be very loyal, but also had a great ability to adapt, and soon exchanged his original innocence for cunning, his fear for arrogance, and his purity for cruelty. As soon as he felt that Sauron trusted him and granted him just a little authority, the human was filled with pride. And he began to dress ostentatiously and wear the rings and jewels that his master gave him, to make it very clear for subordinates who was above them.  
Sauron took delight in how easy to corrupt had proved to be those lesser children of Ilúvatar. Easy to corrupt and mean, too. For if the other races and animals used to show their strength facing beings as powerful or more than themselves, he found that these humans, on the other hand, concealed their natural weakness abusing those that were even weaker. And it was very funny and pathetic at the same time, that those beings who had not been given any special quality, showed however such delusions of grandeur, such ambitions and whims, that far exceeded the limits that had been imposed on them by Eru.  
In a way, they reminded him a little of Melkor himself, except, of course, that for Melkor those ambitions were reasonable, while for men turned out ridiculous. Sometimes Sauron had the impression that when Eru had conceived the Elves, he had done it with similar thoughts to those that fathered Manwë, but when conceiving men, he had done it with that dark area of his mind from which Melkor arose.

And somehow, Melkor suspected this as well.  
He, the most powerful being of Arda, saw a reflection of himself in them, the most insignificant beings on earth, and this angered him.  
Therefore, the Vala didn't approve of his lieutenant turning the man into his personal servant, and waited for the right occasion to snatch him, while deep in his heart he plotted ways to horribly torment the creature.  
The Orcs and Balrogs didn't look kindly at the protegé of Sauron either, and Gothmog spied on them with suspicion, and rumours started going around Angband.  
But so far, the human remained safe, and within his small area of power he believed himself a god. Everyone started calling him "the Shadow of Sauron", to the point that he gradually forgot his original name, the one he wasn't allowed to use anymore. And he never again took off the bone helmet.

The lieutenant took good advantage of the services of his new subordinate, and delegated to him the harder tasks, or those that required contact with Gothmog, be it physical, or communicative, or simply visual contact.  
Freed from these hindrances, he could indulge in more interesting matters, and in the days that followed he often traveled incognito through Middle Earth, trying to get information about the new realms of the Noldor. The obsessive idea of breaking the siege of Angband haunted him day and night, but he didn't find any solution for the moment.  
However, rumours reached his ears about a curse that Mandos had cast on the Noldor before going into exile, and about the enmity between Thingol and the High Elves, caused by some scuffle in the Undying Lands that he failed to understand well, as everybody spoke ambiguously about it.  
These were good news, of course, and Sauron devoted his spare free time to plot how he could exploit the disunity among the different Elven houses. Doriath was still a thorn in his side, and nothing would satisfy him more than seeing the kingdom fall at the hands of its own race.

Also in the distant lands of the East, in Hildórien, was seen at night a large black wolf with a gleaming glass eye, that seemed to spy on the frightened men.  
Sauron was surprised to find that, against all odds, those beings, far from diminishing in number, had increased dramatically. In a manner similar to rats and insects, which despite being so insignificant, spreaded everywhere. Unfortunately, some of those men still had friendly relationships with the Elves who, after all, had taught them the language and many of the techniques that their civilization used.  
This made Sauron think about the power of language to unite people and how, paradoxically, the language of the Grey Elves had come to be used throughout Beleriand, even among the Orcs.  
Then he had an idea, and transforming into a bat, flew hastily to Angband.

Melkor was, as usual, looking out the window of a tower while spying on the enemy army. The siege caused him great anxiety, and sometimes he paced to and fro like a caged and rabid animal.  
The Vala needed to extend his power over the earth, either by going through it himself as he did before his stay in Valinor, or at least deploying his creatures across it, who nonetheless had part of that power inside. But now he had to concentrate all that energy inside his body, and there were days when Sauron felt him so overloaded, that he feared that Melkor would explode in a terrible blast and burn everyone to ashes.

This was one of those days. So Melkor didn't want to hear the proposal of Sauron.

-Creating a new language for the servants of Angband and make everybody speak it in Middle Earth? I have no time for such trivialities! -he growled, still spying on the Noldor.

-But thou wilt agree, my Lord, that Sindarin should not be the lingua franca.

-Of course not! What right have those Elves to name all the lands I own? Doriath is a ridiculous realm, they can speak their jargon there if they want! However, creating a new language is a tedious thing that requires time and patience. And I have neither! As far as I'm concerned, we can force them to speak in the old language of the Valar. -Sauron snickered; the tongue of the Valar was so unpronounceable for creatures of flesh and blood, that their mouths would probably bleed just trying to speak it. Melkor interrupted his reflections grabbing his arm and dragging him to the window: - Look, look there! Dost thou not think that they have moved their positions, that they have approached a few meters from yesterday?

-I don't know, my Lord, it seems to me that they are in the same place, but it may well be...

-They're challenging me again! And may I put up with their impertinence without doing anything!? No!

Then Melkor gave the order to attack to the soldiers that operated the catapults of the upper bastions. Soon, a shower of huge blocks of stone fell on the Noldor, wreaking havoc and opening huge gaps in their ranks.  
The damage was considerable, but the enemy soldiers soon regrouped and responded with their own barrage of stones against the walls of the fortress. For a few minutes a tremor was felt shaking the walls from top to bottom, and some of the furniture in the room fell to the ground.  
The counterattack was brief, and once it was over, Gothmog entered the room slightly wounded in the arm, to report that the Noldor had opened a hole in the fortifications, although it wasn't anything too important.  
Sauron felt at that moment a strange pulsation that seemed to come from Melkor, like a hot wave of anger that swept through the room. With blazing eyes, the Vala ordered Gothmog to send a strike force against the Noldor. The Orcs were regrouped at once, and went through the gates of Angband in tight formations, which crashed into the barrier of the Elves with desperate violence. Melkor and his lieutenant observed the carnage down there from the little window.  
The Orcs fought fiercely, but were surrounded by the enemy army, unable to cope with it, and very few managed to return to the safety of the fortress.  
Those who did so, did it leaving behind a trail of black blood or some other member lost along the way.  
From the ranks of the High Elves raised then a cry of insolent joy, and Sauron felt another throb of heat across the room, and even through himself. Melkor looked out the window and shouted at the top of his lungs:

-Now Elves, ye have exhausted my patience! -and as he said this, the sky darkened over the plain of Ard-galen, and the summits of Thangorodrim trembled with accumulated vapours until exploding in a huge toxic cloud.

A new pulsation shook the walls, and then other more intense, and yet another.  
Sauron step back, a bit frightened. With the fourth pulsation, which seemed to come straight from the heart of the Vala, a kind of earthquake shook the earth, and the ground broke down on the plain, exposing the underground magma.  
From the cracks emerged poisonous smoke, spits of fire and foul-smelling sulphur, that swallowed a large number of soldiers of whom it was never heard again. Panic spread among the Noldor and they were forced to give ground, or else die in the flames. The siege remained there, of course, but now at least it was further away.  
Melkor was left leaning against the window frame with his eyes closed, as in a faint, while he recovered the strenght employed. Even from where he stood, Sauron could hear the reflux of his blood boiling inside his veins, and the fast breathing in his chest.  
He took a cautious step towards the Vala and gently touched his shoulder; his body gave off an unbearable heat.

-My Lord, art thou allright?

Melkor opened his eyes, at first a little disoriented, but his expression was much more calm, almost of serene pleasure.

-Yes, I'm fine, much better now. I needed this. -the Vala leaned on his lieutenant, trying to hide the weakness that he still felt in his legs.

-Tomorrow I'll send twice the Orcs than today and will open a gap in the siege.

-If thou allowest me, my liege, I don't think the problem lies in the number of Orcs, but in our positions. The Noldor are spread out, while our troops are forced to leave Angband in narrow columns. They can easily envelop us from the flanks, where our soldiers are vulnerable. If thou sendst twice the Orcs, thou wilt only lose twice the forces; frontal attacks are suicidal.

Melkor narrowed his eyes in a gesture half suspicious and half sleepy.

-What thou art saying makes no sense, Sauron. Twice the Orcs is still twice. If that is not enough, I'll send the triple. But be it, since thou takest advantage of my momentary state of appeasement to talk nonsense, I'll let thee say it to the end. What dost thou suggest?

-I had thought that we could build another base of operations at a distance. A secret base of operations, from which to attack the Noldor in the rear when they least expect it. We'll push them from behind, and at the same time we'll put pressure on them from Angband ... and then they will be crushed between the two fronts, like an ant between the foot and the ground. –and Sauron slammed with his fist into the open palm of his other hand, to make the explanation even more eloquent.

Melkor raised his eyebrows, thoughtfully.

-Yes ... It may be because of the power discharge I just had, which still clouds my mind, but it seems a good idea. Allright, Sauron, search for that new base of operations! Thou art in charge.

Sauron bowed his head, and felt immensely proud. That was one of the few occasions in which Melkor openly praised one of his ideas, and he had to enjoy the moment.

He only regretted that Gothmog hadn't seen it.

During the following weeks Sauron and his spies were deployed throughout Middle Earth in search of a suitable place to build a new fortress. And fortune would have it, that they didn't even need to build it: they found a newly built one in an unbeatable location.  
Many new things had sprouted over the earth during the time the lieutenant stayed immured, and he discovered one of these on an island of the river Sirion. In the place where previously there had been nothing but a grassy mound, with the odd tree here and there, now stood a mighty tower of stone, whose battlements, silhouetted against the gray sky, gave it the resemblance of the chipped back-tooth of a giant.  
Sauron looked at it from a distance for a long while, perched on a branch as a crow, and thought about the strategic advantages of the place. The more he thought about it, the more appropriate seemed its situation. That fortress should belong to Angband, to Melkor, to himself, no matter the cost, no matter how. Its structure was graceful and beautiful, a work of the Noldor no doubt, but at the same time it possessed an admirable strength and impenetrability.  
Impenetrability, of course: That was a quality in itself, but an inconvenience from the point of view of someone like Sauron, who just wanted to penetrate in the tower with his troops.  
If he only had exact details about the building, the layout of the floors and the available defenses, he could find a blind spot from which to start the assault. But the tower was well guarded by many Noldorin warriors, so even getting closer was impossible.  
At least it wouldn't be possible as the lieutenant of Angband, or as black wolf, or as infectious bat. There was always the option of disembodying and inspecting the building as an invisible wraith. But Sauron had been too long without a body to cling to, and he felt repulsed by the thought of having to part with it again. How could he take an appearance noble and beautiful enough to be allowed through the gates of the tower, and at the same time harmless and insignificant enough so he wouldn't be seen as a threat and raised suspicions?  
Then an idea began to take shape in the mind of Sauron, and among the pine leaves on which he was perched, there was a brief flash for an instant.

A few minutes later, a group of guards turned away from the fortress, alerted by the desperate cries for help and the sobs that came from the nearby grove.  
There in a clearing, lying on the floor with the clothes torn and a bleeding wound in the leg, they found a beautiful maiden who was crying inconsolably. Her hair was black as the starless nights of the distant days of Utumno, and fell in undulating cascades down her shoulders and back. But her skin was as white and bright as the snows of Taniquetil when Varda spread over them the dust of far-off stars.  
The guards approached her with words of reassurance and comfort, and when the maiden looked up, they stood frozen in the place, and their hearts were filled with love and compassion. Those two eyes reminded them of the amber stones that the Noldor once carved for Aulë, and both seemed to burn with their own flame, warm and kind, but also tempting and full of seduction.  
Without hesitation, the soldiers collected the wounded lady and led her to the fortress to heal her leg and bring her to safety.  
Sauron chuckled to himself. Beauty, of course, was a hollow and vain thing, but very useful when the hearts of men were no less vain and hollow, when their short-sightedness wouldn't let them see beyond the facade of things, and make them mistake for pure gold what was just a glitter.

In this guise, and faking a limp because of the pain, Sauron let his escort drive him through the bridge that led to the island. Along the way, he didn't lose the opportunity to inspect the bridge itself and the surrounding area. If he wanted to carry out the assault, that was obviously the easiest way to cross the river. The fact that it was facing south had the disadvantage that the troops would have to make a detour first, but on the other hand, an attack of Angband from that side would be more unexpected. Furthermore, the bridge was very solid and resistant, so the possibility that it was destroyed before the crossing was unlikely. At the end of the bridge stood a barbican with a couple of guards on it: the first obstacle.  
Sauron took mental note of all the fortifications as they approached the main entrance. Behind the barbican opened a moat, maybe about five yards deep, filled with greenish water, under the surface of which one could guess the sharp points of stakes, so that in the event that the enemy didn't drown, at least he could be skewered. Perhaps there was a bit of Ulmo in those stagnant waters as well, or maybe not. Before the troops could cross the moat, someone would have to fly to the other side and cut the ropes of the drawbridge. Thuringwethil the vampire would serve.  
After this came the outer wall, with four main bastions and four secondary bastions between each one of them, that gave the outline the appearance of an eight-pointed star. On each bastion a turret, and on each turret four sentries. The same structure repeated at the interior wall, but on a higher level and a smaller scale.  
Finally, in the middle, stood the large octagonal tower. Sauron found with no surprise that also up there on the battlements there were sentries.  
He was mentally calculating the number of soldiers deployed in the outside, when an exclamation took him out of his machinations:

-Oh, by all that is sacred! What do ye bring me here, guards? A lovely maiden, and wounded too!

Sauron was now in the main hall of the tower, and a richly dressed Noldo, no doubt the lord of the castle, descended the steps toward him with an alarmed and confused expression. At first glance, the lieutenant guessed that the Elf, whether of noble family or not, was rather dim-witted. Interestingly, his hair was not black as it used to be among the members of his clan, but blond.

"A half-breed certainly" -he said to himself.

The Elf approached him and took his hands, causing a slight movement of repulsion in Sauron.

-Beautiful girl, why dost thou wander alone in these dangerous places, and who has hurt thee that way? -he continued, staring at the burning amber eyes.

Sauron let out an affected sigh and covered his face, as if the mere memory of his imaginary misfortunes would make him cry again.

- Oh, my lord! The reason I wander alone is a sad story of impossible love and petty jealousies. I lived in Hithlum, in the realm of the mighty Fingolfin, and there I was loved in happier times by a handsome and courageous boy. I returned his love with all my heart, so when the envious rival of my beloved tried to claim my hand, he found in me nothing but coldness and disdain. Now my love lies dead, pierced by a treacherous sword, and I run through the woods with no company but that of wild beasts. A wolf from the Shadowy Mountains wounded me in the leg, but I managed to escape. In any case, that's not the wound that worries me, my lord, but the one that I have in my soul. Which, I guess, will bring me very soon to the halls of Mandos. -Sauron sighed again, this time with even more affectation, and made a gesture of fainting. The Elf was quick to hold him so he wouldn't fall.

-Do not worry, my fair lady. Now thou art safe in the fortress of Minas Tirith. I am Orodreth, the lord of this place, and I'll protect thee from all evil. What is thy name, dear?

-Thuringwethil –Sauron let out the first female name that came to his mind.

The lieutenant didn't spend much time around women, and also, since he had thought earlier about the vampire, he had her name on the tip of his tongue. A tongue that he bit at once, regretting what he had just said.  
Orodreth frowned, puzzled.

-That's a very dark name for such a bright woman... -he commented.

But indeed, he wasn't a very sharp Noldo, and he simply shrugged.  
He ordered the soldiers to take the lady to a quiet place to rest, and to call a healer. Sauron had to wait patiently for him to disinfect and bandage the false wound, and then pretended to rest from his exhausting journey on the couch of an alcove.  
He felt downright uncomfortable within that unusual body, and his nature was starting to reject it. That delicate figure, those weak and soft members, represented everything that he despised.  
Because Sauron had never appreciated the female sex. In those creatures he had found, as a rule, nothing but compassion, and tenderness, and sentimentality. All of them useless qualities. And he would never understand why some Ainur had chosen those weak bodies of their own accord.

Although when he looked back in time, he wasn't sure if he had always thought so. Perhaps it was Melkor who had put such ideas into his head, who had instigated in him that hatred towards femininity.  
Probably all began at first with the dispute between the rebellious Vala and the queen of the Valar, and he still remembered the anger of Melkor a little while later, when he learned that all the Ainur had named Varda the most beautiful among them. Melkor had passed as lightning through the mountain on which he was working at that time with Aulë, causing the collapse of the entire summit. And he had proclaimed to the four winds that he was not only the most powerful but also the most beautiful of the Ainur, and not Varda.  
At that time, Melkor just wanted to be the epitome of EVERYTHING. If some Ainu had said then that he was the bluest, Melkor probably would have intervened as well, saying that he was still bluer.

Of course, Melkor had been indeed very beautiful in those days ...  
Sauron wondered if the Vala still seemed beautiful to him. Now that he was a Dark Lord, a shadow of what he was once, consumed, twisted and corrupted by his own power.  
An imperceptible voice answered from the depths of his mind, and it said that yes, that he still seemed beautiful to him. More than ever, in fact.  
Sauron shook his head to banish the voice. It wasn't the time to think about trivialities, but about the tower's fortifications.

Regarding this, the light that filtered through the alcove window was acquiring already the red tones of sunset, and the lieutenant wondered how much longer would he have to stay lying there and doing nothing.  
As if he had guessed his impatience, Orodreth then poked his head out the door, to make sure that the guest was well, and asked if she wanted to eat something. What Sauron more fervently wanted was touring the tower once and for all, and call the roll to the number of troops and weapons that hid there. But if he refused to eat after such a supposedly long journey, it would be suspicious.  
Thus, Sauron was forced to accompany Orodreth at the table and listen to his endless and dull chatter. It was amazing how that Elf could speak so much without saying anything. He only shut up for a moment whenever Sauron fixed his gaze on him. Then he stayed as dumbfounded and lost in the depths of those amber orbs, and blushed and had to look away. But the next moment he resumed his ramble:

- ... well, my brother Finrod was the one who built this fortress. But soon after finishing it, he immersed himself in new works and began to dig caves in the South. What dost thou think? A Noldo of royal blood living in a cave. It's absurd, I know. But my brother Finrod was always a little weird. He has met with those ugly and ungraceful dwarves, and even befriended them. Felagund, they call him... Honestly, if he wasn't my brother, I would think he has some dwarf blood, because he's also somewhat short. Thou wouldst not believe the amount of treasures that he brought from Valinor! And just for what, for leaving them in a cave and let saltpetre and rust eat them? Middle Earth is no place for golden treasures and refinements of royal court. Everything here is so rough, so tough ... Sometimes, and I mean it for real my beautiful lady, sometimes I regret having followed my uncle Fëanor up here just for those damned jewels. Capturing Morgoth would be nice, of course, and taking him to Valinor, and handing him over to Tulkas to receive a beating of cosmic proportions. But the jewels themselves... as far as I'm concerned, they can go to hell with Morgoth and all his court of stinking servants! My father was the most sensible, after all ...

Of all that Orodreth said, only one thing caught the eye of Sauron. And this was the news that Finrod was digging something in the South, certainly an underground kingdom in the likeness of that of Thingol. He tried to pry some information about the location of that secret kingdom, but other than learning that it was called Nargothrond, he couldn't get anything from Orodreth. Probably not even he had an exact idea of the site yet.

After dinner, Sauron asked his host to show him the tower on the inside, and was finally able to make the recount of soldiers and weapons. The Elf was very surprised that the graceful maiden was so interested in places like the armory or the turrets, but he didn't give it much importance, and the pleasure of accompanying such a beautiful guest erased any trace of suspicion.  
Because indeed, Orodreth was more than delighted with this beauty. And at a given moment, in a very sneaky way, he put his arm around his companion's waist as they climbed the steps to the battlements. Sauron thought then about grabbing that bold arm and pull it out by the roots. But he chose not to do so, since that would be a very unladylike behaviour.

When the lieutenant's curiosity was satisfied, and the building's blueprint outlined in his mind, Sauron asked his host to lead him to a sleeping chamber, as the night began to fall outside. As soon as the tedious Elf let him alone, he could escape to Angband with the report for Melkor.  
Orodreth then led him to a bedroom more luxurious and ornate than the other rooms of that austere fortress. It must be a room for guests or, Sauron hardly dared to think it, the very room of Orodreth. A small window beside the bed provided the perfect escape route.

-Well, my lord. Now if thou dost not mind, I'd like to rest. -he snapped, without much effort to hide his impatience.

On top of that, maintaining that false shape was increasingly harder for him, and his spirit began to stir, eager to leave it as soon as possible.  
But the stupid Elf didn't take the hint, or perhaps he didn't want to, and stood there staring into his eyes, as if a spell had nullified his brains.

-Fair Thuringwethil, I must confess that, more than glory or riches, or even more than the defeat of Morgoth, what I've always wanted with all the ardor of my heart was creating a family. –said Orodreth then, taking the pale hands of Sauron- I have long walked the Undying Lands, and then Middle Earth, in search of a wife. But I had no luck, and I wouldn't like to end up like my brother Finrod: a frustrated bachelor, living in a cave and surrounded by dwarves. However, since I have met thee, this fear has eased inside me. Because my intuition tells me that I have met my future wife, with whom I will spend the rest of my life until, perhaps, fate sends me to Mandos. And this is an intuition too powerful to be wrong, it's an inspiration of the Valar no doubt, and I can do nothing to fight against it. Forgive me, dear lady, I know that right now thy heart is broken. But maybe I can help thee to close the wound ...

And then, to the horror of Sauron, the Elf leaned over him as he closed his eyes and pressed his lips against his. The lieutenant felt a ball of repugnance churning in his stomach, and he didn't know what to do with that embarrassing situation. He wished to stick his fangs into the neck of Orodreth and let him bleed to death right there, but unfortunately that was not an option.  
He noticed then the mirror next to him, and there, in the reflection that showed the horrible image of the Noldo kissing him, he discovered a disturbing detail. His right eye was starting to lose its colour and take its usual glassy appearance. It was an unmistakeable sign that the power that kept the deception was diminishing, and that his form would soon revert to its original state.  
If Orodreth suddenly opened his eyes and discovered that whom he was kissing was the lieutenant of Angband, his whole plan would collapse. He would probably get away unharmed, but they would give the alarm. And then they would double the vigilance at the tower, and perhaps they'd even build up new fortifications, making the assault even more complicated.  
Realizing this, Sauron pushed the Elf with abruptness to break the kiss. And immediately he covered his face with his hands, pretending to cry, so he couldn't see the telling eye.

-Please, my lord, go away, I just want to be alone ... –he sobbed with a choked voice.

Orodreth stepped back, mumbled a faltering apology, and then left in a hurry.  
Sauron sighed in relief when he was alone at last. He went to the window and looked down: the height was not excessive, and the idea that the lady had escaped through there could be more or less plausible. Thus, and fed up of that pitiful appearance, the lieutenant transformed into a bat and flew away through the gap.  
Being a maiden, even if it had been just for a few hours, was the most frightening experience of his life.

When he returned to Angband, he was received with the usual chaos that reigned in the fortress from time until now. Badly injured Orcs were scattered in every corner and every column, losing the last drops of life through the streams of blood that poured from each of their members. Battered shields and chipped swords hindered the path. Pieces of broken stones, which seemed to have been part of some unaware troll, rolled back and forth until getting pulverized under the footsteps of the smaller Orcs, that tended to the wounded without much enthusiasm. On the ground, some wolves skewered by dozens of arrows died among inaudible groans.  
And amid all this mess, Gothmog paced to and fro in a frenzy, shouting to everybody around, and ripping the air with the whip without hitting anyone, but only to vent his fury.

-Sauron, about time! -he cried, when he saw the lieutenant. Sauron approached him with a stunned expression because of the disaster around him.

-But what happened here?

-What happened!? The master Melkor tried another desperate attack to break the siege, that's what happened! -Gothmog was so inflamed, that the smoke that he gave off stung Sauron's eyes .

-Don't get excited, and don't yell at me, Gothmog.

-I'm not yelling! And how could I get not excited!? The master Melkor wants to send my Balrogs out there, now that we have almost run out of Orcs in good conditions. I'm not going to send my Balrogs to that trap so they fall pointlessly into the hands of the Noldor! Hast thou seen the army that piles in there? There are more and more each time!

-And what dost thou want me to do? That I look out the window and politely ask the Elves to retreat?

-No, that thou talkest to Melkor and makest him see sense, it's not for nothing that thou art his dear lieutenant! He won't listen to me.

Sauron smirked upon noticing the bitterness with which he pronounced the word "dear".

-All right. I'll talk to him, in view of thy inability to solve problems by thyself.

The whip of the Balrog whistled inches from Sauron as a warning, and his cape almost caught fire because of it. The lieutenant stepped back, but didn't wipe the grin off his face.

-Run, run to whisper thy sweet words in the ear of the master, Gorthaur! –groaned the demon, turning around. -Though on the other hand, I wish thou wouldst not convince him. Maybe that way he will send thee to the front as well, and the point of an Elven sword will make thy two eyes equal.

Sauron laughed to himself, and then went to the throne room, where he found Melkor. To his surprise, the Vala was quietly lying on the seat and fiddled with a gem-encrusted dagger as if the mess around had nothing to do with him. Upon listening to the echo of the approaching riding boots, he looked up and smiled calmly.

-Welcome back, Sauron, my right hand. -he muttered, and then returned his attention to the dagger.

-I don't know if "welcome" is the right word in these circumstances, my Lord.

-One should always be glad to come home, no matter in what conditions he finds it, dost thou think not, Sauron? Now tell me, didst thou fulfill thy mission, didst thou find a place for the new base of operations?

The lieutenant stood up straight with proud, pleased to report his success at last.

-I did a lot more than that, my Lord: I found an already-built new base of operations. It is an Elven stronghold in Tol Sirion, in an unbeatable location. In charge of it is a prince of the Noldor, a certain Orodreth.

-Another son of Fëanor? That Elf has more offspring than the country rabbits! –whinged Melkor, twisting his mouth in disgust.

-No, apparently he's his nephew.

-Son of the accursed Fingolfin then, may he burn in the subterranean fires!

-No, no, my Lord, I don't think that he's the son of Fingolfin. He has fair hair, so I guess he's of mixed blood.

Melkor shrugged.

-That family baffles me. But tell me more. Would it be possible to conquer the fortress in a short span of time?

Sauron looked away. It would have been possible to conquer it immediately, if Melkor hadn't massacred the majority of the Orcs.

-Well, my Lord, I have an exact plan of the tower and its fortifications, both external and internal. It won't be difficult to take it by assault _when_ we have enough troops.

Melkor raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

-How didst thou get information of the inside, Sauron?

To this question the lieutenant hesitated for a moment. He couldn't tell his master that he had to transform into a maiden, since he would earn his eternal ridicule and scorn, and even worse: Gothmog would end up finding about it. But he couldn't lie either.

-Thuringwethil. She did it. She seduced Orodreth and made him show her the tower and reveal its secrets.

-That old witch seduced him? –the Vala pierced him with a look of eloquent malice and Sauron felt ashamed- Yes ... Of course she did... Well, in that case thou wilt have to turn her into one of thy captains when we take over the tower, in gratitude for her services, dost thou think not, Sauron? -and the Maia nodded, a little embarrassed.

-There's more, my Lord. I have also learned that the brother of Orodreth, a certain Finrod that he kept talking about, is excavating an underground kingdom in the South, called Nargothrond.

-Another secret kingdom! Don't they ever get tired of invading my domains with their mole holes? -mumbled Melkor with a frown.- And where is that kingdom, so I can destroy it?

-Judging by the name, somewhere near the river Narog.

-Thou art a genius, Sauron! –growled the Vala with sarcasm.

And balancing the dagger on the tip of his fingers, he stared at it for a while, as the embedded gems caught and returned the glow of the Silmarils, in a strange set of lights.  
The lieutenant remained silent and ignored for a few minutes. Then he finally dared to ask the question that intrigued him so much:

-My Lord Melkor, why didst thou send the Orcs against the siege again, after seeing what happened the other day?

-Because I was bored! -snapped the Vala without looking at him, attentive only to the light beams emitted by the dagger.

Sauron was puzzled. This was not the kind of answer he expected. Perhaps something of the like of: "Because I wanted to prove to those Elves who is the most powerful" or "Because I wanted to spread the terror among them once again"... But because of boredom? That sounded as decadent abandon.

-I don't understand, master. What sense does it make to lead an attack if one knows that it won't be victorious?

Then Melkor withdrew the eyes from the dagger for a moment, and the perverse and corrupted gleam that Sauron found in them froze his blood.

-Oh, my dear Sauron, I know that thou dost not understand! But I've discovered something new. While I watched from the towers of Angband the battle raging below, while I watched how the curved swords of the Orcs opened the throats of Elves, and how the Elven spears pierced the skulls of Orcs, I realized how small and insignificant seemed those figures from above. Smaller than ants. More insignificant than the dust of the road. And I understood that victory is not important, that the only thing that matters is the death and annihilation of those negligible figures. What does it matter if all our Orcs die when Elves die as well? Both races are nothing but pustules that disfigure the face of Arda, of MY Arda. The world was created for me, and me alone. I don't want to share it with anyone else. -the Vala made a gesture of indolent disdain with his gloved hand, and continued staring at the shining gems.

The left eye of Sauron gave off a flame of indignation upon hearing these words.

-Excuse me for saying this, my Lord, but that's just nihilism. Thou wilt not have anyone to serve thee, or to admire thee, or whom to govern, once thou hast destroyed everyone and everything. There is no glory in death. Only death.

Melkor smiled to himself, and a shadow of bitterness appeared in the lines of his face for a second.

-I have known Death, Sauron. I have spent hundreds of years in its halls. I have been touched by it.

-Yes? And what didst thou find there?

-Pain. And pleasure. Only that matters. The rest... is indifferent. -Melkor sighed, and stretched on the throne with voluptuousness. Sauron realized that his figure was clearly visible beneath the thin fabric of his robe, and then to his anger joined a twinge of discomfort. -The days seem very long here confined, Sauron. -continued the Vala- The hours prolong and never come to an end. Boredom becomes unbearable... Thou hast not entertained me as thou usedst to since a long time. Dost thou remember? When we went down to the dungeons and thou torturedst prisoners for me? -and as he said this, Melkor began to stroke the blade of the dagger suggestively.

The lieutenant perceived, with great disturbance on his part, how the body of his master emitted a sort of wave of heat and lust quite inappropriate for an Ainu, but pretended to ignore this detail.

-Whenever he wants, my Lord can join me and see how I punish the prisoners.

-No, I don't want to see thee punishing the prisoners and guilty. I've already seen that... Where dost thou hide that human, the human I brought as a pet and that thou stolest from me so slyly? I want to see how thou torturest him, how thou breakst that frail flesh. I still don't know the pain of men, and I want to see it, Sauron, I want to know how their moans sound.

-With all due respect, that human is my faithful servant, and so far he hasn't committed any fault that makes him deserving of my lashes. -replied the Maia coldly.

-So thou defendst him! Then it must be true what Gothmog told me, that thou hast turned that creature into the plaything of thy lust, that thou usest it for thy personal pleasure. Isn't it true, Sauron? Thou dost things with him when ye are alone, right? That's why thou rewardst him with so many jewels and attentions.

The lieutenant's white teeth peered in a forced smile.

-Gothmog certainly has weird fantasies, but I assure thee that, although the human hasn't committed a fault serious enough to be punished, he hasn't achieved either anything important enough to be rewarded with the body and passion of an Ainu . It's not because of favoritism why I oppose to torture him, but because punishment, if one wants it to be effective, must be applied only to those who deserve it. If we begin to arbitrarily mistreat the servants, they will no longer have a reason to choose obedience and loyalty before rebellion and treason.

-But thou enjoyest tormenting them, thou hast fun with it!

-Whether I enjoy it or not is irrelevant. Interrogation techniques have a very clear function, and should be used for what they were designed, not just to satisfy perverse desires.

The Vala squinted, angry.

-Be careful, Sauron. Thou art treading on thin ice.

-I didn't want to sound insolent, my liege, and thou knowest that I will fulfill thy orders as I always do. I was just expressing my disagreement.

-Oh, really? Well keep thy disagreement in some dark corner of thy mind, and just do as I command thee! Tomorrow the Moon will be full, and that makes me nervous. So I'll want the human in the dungeons to release the tension, understood?

Sauron nodded impassively.

-Yes, my Lord.

And after that, he turned and left the room with long strides, barely concealing his anger and his desire to hit something or someone. He didn't understand what was wrong with Melkor. Some deep change had to have occurred in the Vala during those sixty years he had been locked. A change that he had only suspected at first, but that now began to show itself with all its terrible consequences. How could it be that the same Melkor, that not so long ago had scolded him for mistreating an Orc to no avail, now decided to exterminate them all just for boredom and defeatism? That was not the master whom he had devoted himself, leaving everything behind to serve him, back in the ancient and dark times where the Lamps fell, and their rivers of fire drew on the earth's surface patterns of a more beautiful geometry than he could have ever designed in the forges of Aulë. The Melkor of that time had a vision. One different from that of the other Valar, chaotic and brutal perhaps, but no less valid. Evil and violence were only means at the service of that vision, but never an end in themselves. They had been the inevitable consequence, the path to follow out of necessity, given the belligerent opposition of the other Ainur. But despite everything, Melkor had not loved EVIL, he hadn't considered himself "evil" at any time, regardless of what the world thought of him. Now, however, he seemed to have enthusiastically embraced the title of "perverse Vala", given to him by others. It seemed that he wanted to do evil for evil's sake. And there was something in all this, in that lustful depravity, in that utter lack of purpose, that Sauron found deeply repugnant.

When he went back to the main hall, where the wounded writhed in pain, Gothmog approached him again, to ask him about Melkor's decision regarding his Balrogs. But after the conversation he had just had, Sauron was too bad-tempered to want to answer, and simply pushed him aside abruptly and passed by. Gothmog was so perplexed that he couldn't react, and when he wanted to strike back, the black cape already fluttered far away and disappeared into the undergrounds of Angband. However, the captain didn't need to worry about his Balrogs, since the idea of sending them against the Noldor had been erased from the mind of Melkor, and had been replaced by a thirst for human blood.

The next night, Sauron turned up at Glaurung's lair to fulfill the wishes of his master. That was where he expected to find the man, whom he had entrusted the task of caring for and watching the dragon.  
At first he didn't see him anywhere, and just ran into the immense and scaly mass of the reptile. Glaurung pretended to sleep, but upon hearing Sauron's arrival, he opened one eye with curiosity. A deep and hissing voice came then from his powerful jaws.

-Long time since the lieutenant dropped by here. One misses thee. Art thou no longer interested in thy dragons?

-I've been very busy, Glaurung. The only thing I think about day and night is how to end the siege of Angband once and for all.

-I've thought about it as well. And I have come to the conclusion that only we, the great dragons of fire, will be able to break through between the Elves and throw them out of our gates. -said the dragon, expelling with an absolute calm a yellowish cloud that smelled like sulfur.

Sauron was disturbed by these words.

-Banish those ideas immediately, Glaurung, thou art still too young! Thy scale armor is still soft, and the spears of the Noldor are sharp and penetrate deep inside. Thou art a too valuable creature to get lost in such a stupid way.

Glaurung wagged his tail annoyed and stood straight before the lieutenant in all his imposing greatness, as if trying to convince him of how strong he really was.

-Thou canst not stop me! If the Lord Melkor allows me, I will go out there and sweep the ranks of those filthy Elves with my breath. Melkor is who created me, who put the flame within me. He is my father, not thou!

-Thou forgetst one thing, Glaurung. Although Melkor put that flame in thee, it is me whom thou owest the wickedness of thy eyes, and thy contracted pupil. –replied Sauron, pointing at his own left eye.- I collaborated to raise thee too, I fed thee and made thee stronger, so I'm also thy father. And so thou owest me obedience.

-Two fathers... Where has been seen anything like that? –grumbled the dragon under his breath.

-Stop complaining and tell me: where is my human servant?

-Thy Shadow? That little thing that thou assignedst me as a guardian? There he is. –and Glaurung pointed with his sharp snout at a corner of the chamber, that was partially hidden behind some thick pillars.

Sauron looked around the place, and found the man resting on a couch, as two low-class Orcs attended him. One of them was filing his black nails, while the other fanned him, since those men seemed to be extremely sensitive to temperature, and suffered just because of the slightest heat or cold. As soon as he saw his master arriving, the human pushed the two Orcs with contempt, to drive them away from his presence while he talked with the lieutenant.  
Everybody in Angband was a slave to somebody, from the last to the first. Those Orcs were it to the man, the man was it to Sauron, Sauron was it to Melkor, and Melkor was a slave to himself and the Silmarils. As long as it was like that, hierarchy would work fine.

-What can I do for thee now, master? –asked the creature, standing up in front of the Maia with diligence.

Whenever he saw his master, his face lit up and a strange glow appeared in his eyes, a glow that Sauron didn't know how to interpret.  
The lieutenant made a simple gesture for him to come his way, and the man clung to his master at once, happy to be with him again .  
Thus, side by side, they went down the tortuous stone stairs that led to the last level of Angband, where cries were always heard.  
Before opening the door of the dungeon, Sauron ran his hand through his servant's neck and stroked him slightly.

-I want thee to know, that what I'm going to do with thee now, I only do it because my Lord Melkor has asked me so. –said the Maia, and the human felt a shiver along his spine, as an ominous forewarning of the torment that was coming.

Melkor waited inside, standing next to the hooks and chains that hanged from the ceiling, and his black eyes showed a demonic expression. The man stared in horror at the rusty iron tools scattered on the floor, and felt the smell of dried blood, and the throbbing evil of the Vala, that filled the room with unnatural heat. He dared not to go forward, but Sauron pushed him gently, though firmly, and brought him before Melkor. He narrowed his eyes, and ordered the lieutenant to undress his servant. The Maia nodded obediently, and with a sudden jerk stripped the wretch of his clothes, and left him naked before the stabbing eyes of the Vala.  
The poor creature lowered his head and shrunk embarrassed, not sure whether to cover himself or not. Melkor laughed, and asked Sauron to take away the bone helmet as well, behind which his face was hidden. Seeing himself without the protection of the helmet all of a sudden, meant for the man a still greater humiliation than having to show his naked body, and he wanted to run away and hide in the darkest corner of the fortress.

-Should I take off his jewels and rings too, my Lord? -asked the lieutenant.

-No, no, leave them. I like the ironic touch that they give him. -sneered the Vala, and addressing the unhappy human he said: -Look at thee! So pathetic, so ugly and miserable. I'm sure that thou hadst never before exposed thy white nakedness to the contemptuous eyes of the world, am I right? Thou hadst never before felt so vulnerable, isn't it? Tell me then, what dost thou think that we're going to do with thee?

The man looked shyly at the serious face of his master Sauron, and then at the terrifying figure of Melkor, and a tear rolled down his cheek.

-I think I know what ye want to do with me, my lord Melkor. -he stammered among sobs, trying to wipe his eyes with the back of his hand. –I only beg you to have mercy on me and please don't be too rough. I've never done anything like this.

Then, upon hearing these pleading words uttered by that creature, pale and helpless, in a cell, at the mercy of his captors, an old memory and an old pain revived in the soul of Melkor. A pain that had never died completely, no matter how much the Vala tried to forget it, and that once again climbed through his vertebrae as the ruthless reminder of what happened in the past. Suddenly, it was Melkor who felt extremely vulnerable.  
And this made him burn with anger.

-How darest thou to even suggest such a blasphemy, thou filthy worm!? –he exploded-That I, a Vala, of the divine race of the Ainur, would lower myself to thy same level! That I would give thee my body for thee to enjoy it! Insolent! –the temperature of the dungeon had risen considerably, and pointing towards the wall, from which hung a pair of shackles, Melkor shouted:- Sauron, chain this wretch, and show him that the crack of the whip will be the only thing that his flesh will taste tonight!

The lieutenant dragged his servant reluctantly, and chained him facing the wall, so that his back was left well exposed for the lashing. He was about to take out his whip, when Melkor stopped his hand.

-No, not with that one! Use this. -and the Vala gave him a nine-tailed scourge. The lieutenant looked with dismay at the scourge, and at his master, and again at the scourge, and his stomach clenched.

-My Lord, nine tails!? He's just a fragile human. Is it really necessary so much cruelty?

Melkor gritted his teeth and hissed with malice:

-What is it? Gorthaur the Cruel is getting soft?

Sauron frowned and took the scourge from the Vala's hands with restrained fury.  
The whip tore the air, and there was a first crack, and a shriek of intense pain. On the back of the victim, nine red lines broke now the fine and white skin.  
After this one, there was another crack, followed by another, even more shrill cry, and then came another, and another, and another. With each new crack, Sauron felt a hot pulsation piercing the air at his back, coming from where Melkor was. And with each new pulsation and each new cry from the man, he heard the voice of the Vala saying: "Harder, harder."  
Sauron followed the orders of that voice without thinking, and hatred began to boil inside of him. Hatred towards the obscene pulsations that vibrated while passing through him, and towards the pathetic human whose blood began to form puddles on the floor, and towards Melkor's voice that each time trembled more with pleasure and arousal, and towards Melkor for forcing him to do something so coward and unfair, and ultimately, hatred towards himself, for still loving Melkor nonetheless.

He didn't know how many lashes had been already, perhaps forty or fifty. The back of his servant had been reduced to a bloody mass, and the strange waves of evil were so intense, that they shook the little furniture around. Then, from Melkor's body came a particularly violent pulsation, which almost hurt his lieutenant, and when he said again "More, Sauron, harder, harder", his voice broke into some kind of lewd moan.  
Disgusted, and filled with fury and disturbance, Sauron wielded the whip one last time, and its nine ends were dealt with unusual force on the body of the abused creature.  
After this, the cries and sobs died down completely, and the dungeon was silent.  
Melkor groaned in agony:

-What's going on, why dost thou not continue!? Why I don't hear his cries any longer!?

Sauron turned and looked at his master: the Vala was visibly upset, shook because of the heavy breathing, and had an expression of frustrated pleasure on his face. Again, the concentrated power of his insides emitted an unbearable heat.

-My Lord, the human has fainted from pain. He's unconscious.

Melkor bit his lip in annoyance, and placed his hand on his chest, where the heart bounced at a feverish pace.

-Damn it! Well... clean this up. -he said, his voice faltering among gasps, and left the dungeon in a hurry.

Sauron watched the pitiful image of his servant, half lying on the ground, with his limbs hanging limply from the shackles, and crimson streams running down his entire back.  
For the first time in his life, the smell of blood caused him repugnance.  
He then peered through the door of the dungeon and called two Orcs, that came at once, to attend and heal the wounded.

-Look at him well! –warned the Maia, grabbing them by the neck and putting their faces in front of the lacerated body.- If I learn that ye have mistreated him or have done even the slightest damage to him, your backs will end up the same. –and thus said, the lieutenant turned around and returned to the upper levels of the fortress, invaded by some kind of sickening nausea.

During the following days, Sauron had no desire to see Melkor and tried by all means that it was Gothmog who met his demands. He was really angry at the Vala, at his irrationality, at his absurd cruelty with the servants of Angband.  
For the lieutenant, loyalty was something sacred that under no circumstances should be betrayed. And in that poor human he had found just that loyalty that he always missed in Orcs and trolls. Orcs were not loyal to their masters; they only obeyed them out of fear. And trolls were simply too stupid to disobey. That's why having to mistreat the man hurt him so much, because he had the impression that he had broken the inviolable bond between master and servant. The same bond that joined him and Melkor, and that he not even now dared to break.  
Although Sauron, of course, had recently had some blasphemous thoughts. He had dared to imagine himself as the supreme master of Middle Earth in place of Melkor. A master much more just, and rational, and useful for Arda. Furthermore, he had fantasized with the insane idea of grabbing Melkor, pushing him against the wall, and making him taste the same whip that so many others had tasted already.  
But of course, all these were just passing thoughts that couldn't be taken seriously. The idea of rebelling for real never crossed his mind, not even for an instant. However, he couldn't ensure that rebellion hadn't entered the heart of his human servant, and feared that he would attempt to flee the fortress and join the Elves after the suffered torment.

Thus, the day the man returned to his side, once recovered from his wounds, Sauron was left perplexed.

-Why art thou here again, didst thou not have enough last time? –he snapped upon his arrival, with coldness.- Don't be stupid and get away from me! I can no longer protect thee.

The man showed his yellow, sharp teeth in a smile that, despite its ugliness, still retained some of the original innocence that darkness had corrupted.

-How could I go away from thee? Thou art my master, and I will follow thee forever. Or wouldst thou stop serving the Lord Melkor just because he hurt thee?

-No, of course not. But that just means I'm stupid too, not that thou art not.

The man lowered his head and remained silent for a few seconds. Then he whispered shyly:

-Master, could I ask thee a question? -Sauron nodded condescendingly.- What thou feelst for the Lord Melkor, is the same thing I feel for thee?

-I don't know what thou feelst for me, so I cannot answer to that. -replied the Maia.- But if it's some ridiculous human emotion, I assure thee I don't feel it, neither for the Lord Melkor nor for anyone.

The man looked up, and found in his master's face nothing but inexpressive and disdainful iciness.

-I understand ... -he murmured, rubbing his arms as if he was suddenly cold.

Sauron then beckoned to him, and passing his hands around him, began to palpate the bony structure of his servant, through the ribs, the shoulder blades and the back. He could feel very clearly, even beneath the fabric, the swollen scars left by the scourge in its path. And it gave him the impression that, for some strange reason, this contact comforted the human.

-I think thou wilt have my mark forever. –concluded the lieutenant after the quick examination- That means thou wilt be my property until the end of thy days, whether I approve it or not, so I guess I have no choice but to keep thee at my service. Allright, thou canst stay with me. But now leave, because I want to be alone. -and he pointed sternly to the door.

The man bowed in gratitude, and disappeared from his sight.  
It had been a big surprise that the "Shadow of Sauron" had not rebelled against his master.  
But it was even a bigger surprise the day that Sauron rebelled against his. The day in which everything finally exploded.

It was a cloudy evening in which the Sun seemed to have lost its shine before due time, and the lieutenant was standing on one of the steep cliffs of Thangorodrim, watching the invaded plain that lay before him.  
A distant sound came from the lower levels of the fortress. At first it was just a slight and rhythmic tremor, as the muffled footsteps of a giant. But as the pounding kept rising, the vibrations became more and more intense, to the point that even the peaks of Thangorodrim quivered slightly. For a second, Sauron thought that there would be a further collapse of the mountain, but soon realized that, given the nature of the shaking, it couldn't be due to this. Then the echo of alarmed cries came to his ears from below, in front of the entrance to Angband, and he saw how a sudden flare passed through the gates of the fortress, right in the moment they jumped from their hinges.  
Then a huge, muscular mass of scales emerged into the light of day, spewing out fire around it, and dragging behind the broken chains and the Orcs that tried to retain them in vain.  
The lieutenant looked stunned at the scene, while Glaurung swept with his tail the last Orcs that hindered him and barreled against the ranks of the Noldor. The charge was so brutal, that the siege was broken at once, and the dragon opened a wide gap using his fiery breath and massive size.  
The terror and chaos among the Elves was worth seeing, and many abandoned their positions and fled in disorder. The less fast and fortunate, however, were burned to ashes or crushed under the immense legs of the reptile.

That was the plan of Glaurung, which he had decided to set in motion without consulting anyone, and it was having a much better result than what Sauron could have imagined. However, it was still a reckless venture and a disobedience on the part of the dragon. And that could mean nothing but trouble.  
Without wasting a minute of time, the lieutenant flew to the lower levels, though he didn't have a very clear idea of how to stop Glaurung before it was too late.  
On the way to the main entrance he found his human servant, who was supposed to watch the dragon, but that now ran around confused. Sauron took him by the shoulders and shook him enraged.

-What does all this mean, wert thou not the guardian of Glaurung!? How could he escape if he was chained? Answer! -he roared, and the man trembled upon seeing the narrow pupil of the eye fixed on him.

-I... I ... Master, I ... -he stammered, and had to look away from the scorching eye.- I don't know what happened. Suddenly the dragon began to whisper strange words to me, like a poison that entered through the ears. And his eyes... his eyes... I couldn't stop staring at them and I fell in a strange dream. He asked me to break his chains and I obeyed, don't know why. His eyes forced me to do it!

Sauron released the man, frustrated. In part the fault was his, for entrusting the supervision of a creature as cunning and powerful as Glaurung to a pathetic human. He peered resignedly through the entrance of the fortress, wide open now, and saw in the distance the columns of yellowish smoke and the metallic shine of the scales, twinkling among the Elven spears.  
There was nothing he could do to make the dragon give up his destructive frenzy, save hoping that nothing bad happened to him out there and that he returned safe and sound.

But Melkor hadn't taken it so easy, and his screams of rage echoed in each of the pillars, cursing everyone and everything because of Glaurung's disobedience. The Orcs that still swarmed around the gates ran to hide, knowing that when Melkor cursed that way, nothing good was coming.  
Sauron had no desire to deal with the Vala at the time either, and suffering from a timely deafness against the shouts, went back to the top floor followed by his Shadow, and took position on a small window. From there he could watch in detail the development of the battle.  
It was already dusk when the dragon decided to return to the fortress, and on his way back he caused no less destruction than on his way out. All Ard-galen trembled under the footsteps of the monster on the run, and the Elven camp had been left in the same ruinous state of a vegetable garden after being trampled by a stampeding herd.  
Sauron sighed in relief upon seeing that his beloved dragon, though wounded here and there by the spears, was in good condition.  
However, nothing and no one would be able to save him from the wrath of Melkor.

In the hour in which the Vala called everyone in the throne room, the racket that had reigned in Angband a moment ago, was replaced by the most sepulchral silence.  
There, standing before him, with the bowed heads and the humiliated look of the guilty, were Glaurung and the human. Behind them, a large troop of curious Orcs and Balrogs. And to the right of Melkor, next to the throne, was the lieutenant of Angband with a grim visage.

-Never, never before, since the day in which Eä was conceived in a vision until today, I had encountered such a disobedience on the part of one of my own creatures! –the voice of the Vala reverberated through the hollow halls, and even in the most hidden corners it struck terror into all who heard it.- Thou, Glaurung, traitor and rebel, stupid and vain, whom I gave my own fire!, is this how thou appreciatest the life that I put in thee? Who dost thou think thou art, to act behind the back of thy creator, to stir up and destroy my fortress, to make a fool of thyself, of thyself and everyone else, in front of the enemy?

The dragon laid his head on the floor and closed his eyes, expelling a pale cloud of sulfur with an afflicted groan. His regret was evident, but a punishment was still needed. Everyone knew it, Sauron knew it.  
What nobody expected, was hearing Melkor pronouncing the following sentence:

-Fine then, Glaurung, since thou despisest the being who brought thee into existence, since thou hast decided to live according to thy own desires and not following the will of thy master, I release thee from the chains that bind thee to me, and consequently, from the chains that bind thee to the world! Return thus to the dust and shapeless darkness from where thou camest once! Return to be snake, and ash, and iron hook! The flame that I gave thee I'll take from thee, and thou wilt be Glaurung the Father of Dragons no more, thou wilt be nothing, nothing at all! Dragons I have many at my disposal. I can do without the ungrateful ones.

Given this, all of those present held their breath in shock. Melkor had just condemned his beloved dragon to death, the one who was possibly the most perfect and successful of all his offspring. The surprise was tremendous, and no less for Glaurung, who until now had been convinced that he would only receive a reprimand and a punishment for his venture. A venture, moreover, that in the eyes of those present was just a harmless little prank.

Sauron tried to protest against the disproportionate and cruel sentence, but Melkor silenced him with a curt gesture of the hand. Then he turned his gaze to the man, and the creature shrunk on the floor terrified.

-As for thee, miserable eyesore, good for nothing, that wert not even able to accomplish thy task and watch the dragon, for thee I have reserved a lesser penalty than death, but that most likely will seem worse to thee. I will deliver thee to my hordes of Orcs, as I warned thee once, and I will give them permission to do whatever they want with thee, save ending thy torment through death. -and saying this, he signaled to the troops of Orcs in the room, so that they caught the human and brought him away.- Take him, and make him into the object of your anger, of your thirst for blood, or of your lust, as ye will!

The Orcs licked his lips upon hearing the order, and approached the unfortunate among chuckles. A couple of them had their claws already on the fragile arms of the man, when the end of a black whip crossed their faces all of a sudden, and extracted a few drops of dark blood. The Orcs stepped back confused, at first not understanding what had just happened.  
All turned their eyes towards Sauron. The lieutenant had the whip in his hand in a threatening posture, and was ready to lash at whomever dared to approach his servant again.  
No one believed what had occurred, and who least believed it was Melkor. His right- hand man, at the right of his throne, had dared to contravene a direct order, and in front of everybody! That was such an unprecedented novelty, that the Vala didn't even know how to react to it.

-Everyone except for Sauron, out of the throne room. -he said slowly and softly, still looking shocked at the lieutenant, who stared back in defiance.

Those gathered there didn't move from their place, hesitant, and then the Vala bursted:

-Out!

This time, the Orcs, the Balrogs and the dragon reacted instantly and went out in droves, glad about not being mixed up in the terrible scene that was coming between the Vala and the Maia. Only the man stayed on the ground, stunned, for a few seconds.

-Go away, thou fool! –growled Sauron between his teeth, and cracked the whip right under the very nose of his servant, as a warning.

The human finally took the hint and fled the room, running at full speed. Now only Melkor and Sauron remained there.  
The lieutenant descended the dais on which the throne stood, and knelt before his master. He wanted to explain the reasons for his action, although he feared that the Vala wouldn't allow him. But seeing that Melkor stayed still and silent, he dared to speak:

-My Lord, what I've done, I've done it for thee, lest thou dost something that thou wilt later regret. Glaurung has behaved badly, of course, but it's unfair that he dies just because of his small mistake. The incursion into the camp of the Elves has been quite successful, also, and showed me that dragons could be the definitive weapon to get rid of the siege. Therefore I beg thee to reconsider thy decision when the fire of thy anger is quenched a bit and thou canst think a little more clearly. Remember the days when thou and I raised the dragon together, and if there's still some warmth in thy heart for those better days, please, spare Glaurung's life. Regarding my human servant, I couldn't allow such vile deed against him. That Orcs took him with their dirty paws, and mistreated him, and raped him one after the other... it's revolting. And I'm sure that thou also findest it revolting and unworthy of a Vala, dost thou not, my Lord?

He looked up, and saw that Melkor was trembling with anger. But there was something else, there was confusion, and pain, and even some fear in his expression.

-Thou ... Thou ... Sauron, thou hast disobeyed me. Thou hast rebelled against me. How couldst thou do this to me, precisely thou of all others, and after I took thee out of the hole and gave thee a second chance? Now I know that I have no one on my side, that I'm surrounded by conspirators, by spies of the Valar who desire nothing but my ruin. I am alone. Well, I don't need anyone! I will rule the world alone, and since all are against me, I'll have to destroy them all. Also thee... I will also destroy thee.

Sauron dropped his head again with grief. Definitely, that was no longer Melkor, but Morgoth. A sad tyrant, alone on his throne, feared by all but afraid of everything. Now he finally understood the meaning of the name that Fëanor had gave him, he understood the symbolism of that name change in all its depth, in all its brilliant clairvoyance.  
Melkor, the Mighty Arising, the god of Arda, had given way to Morgoth, the Black Enemy, the corrupted and depraved despot, without hope, without dreams, without possible redemption. And there was no turning back.  
Until then Sauron had resisted against this disturbing thought, which had long struggled to get out of the hidden recesses of his mind, but now it had finally come to light and he had to accept it in all its hideous reality.

At that time, the broken voice of his master took him out of his grim meditations:

-Morgoth? -he heard him saying, and Sauron understood then that the Vala had entered his mind without him realizing it, and had read all his thoughts.- How ... How dost thou dare to use that name?

-My Lord, I ...

- Silence! -he shouted, and a tremendous shock wave went through the whole room, making all lamps and glass objects to burst into a thousand pieces.

Sauron stood up, startled, and stepped back. The Vala had got up from the throne as well, and now descended the steps, approaching him slowly, enveloped in a cloud of increasingly thick and menacing darkness. Suddenly, Melkor seemed much taller to him, and the light of the Silmarils radiating from the iron setting refracted in his left eye and burned him more than ever.  
For the first time since Eä was conceived in a vision, the lieutenant felt fear, real fear, and took another step back, and another, and another, while Melkor came closer to him.

-Thou miserable lesser spirit! Who dost thou think thou art to judge me? Me, who was present at the beginning of all things, who had the largest share in the creation of all that exists. I knew the fate of Arda even before thou learnedst to say thy own name! I have gazed through the unfathomable voids that are beyond time, beyond space, and although Eru hid the Flame Imperishable from me, I have felt it in my heart, burning me with all the love and all the hatred of the Earth! I feel it every day of my life! But what dost thou know about any of this, what dost thou know about anything? -the shadow of Melkor stood over Sauron as a tower of darkness, and the Maia felt the hard wall against his back.

He was cornered. A hand wrapped in silk, soft as a caress but powerful as tongs, closed around his neck and turned him violently to make him face the wall.

-Tell me, Sauron, what do I have to do to make thee respect me and learn where is thy place once and for all, uh? -whispered the Vala in his ear, and pressed his body against the back of the lieutenant, leaving him no escape.- Do I have to rip thy carnal envelope again, do I have to demote thee and put Gothmog in thy place, do I have to lock thee inside a pit of ice and fire for all eternity? Or maybe ... Yes, maybe I should humiliate thee in the lowest and filthiest way. Tarnish thy body. Tear thy flesh. –a lustful pulsation ran through Melkor´s body from top to bottom, and Sauron felt his warm breath against his nape while he inhaled the scent of his neck, as he had done in that distant day in the dungeons.- I have infinite ways to break thy spirit, Sauron. It's been long since I stopped being a pure Ainu, dost thou know?, and I have desires, desires unbecoming of a Vala, desires of the flesh that burn me like fire. I feel them between my legs, Sauron, and inside, in hidden places thou wouldst be embarrassed to know. And dost thou think that I haven't thought before about satisfying them with thee? Dost thou think that I haven't desired to mate with thee, as beasts in heat do? Yes, I have desired it. Because I have known the taste of the flesh, and not just the taste but the hunger as well. The hunger that torments me day and night. That runs through my body as an always unsatisfied sting, a yearning to be touched, and possessed, and possess. -and as he said this, Melkor descended slowly with the other hand along the body of his lieutenant, put it between his legs, and began to stroke him in an obscene way.

Sauron was a bit disturbed by the feeling of his master's long fingers touching his private parts through the trousers, but stayed calm and didn't show any reaction.

-Canst thou feel it, Sauron, canst thou feel it like me? Tell me, dost thou like to be touched here? Wouldst thou like that I possessed thee here, where perhaps the others could see us? –continued the Vala, sighing with lewd pleasure and still caressing his crotch, increasingly aroused.- Yes, that would be humiliating for thee, right? That I used thee to quench my basest instincts. The proud lieutenant of Angband turned into a toy for the pleasure of his master. If I did that, thou wouldst never challenge me again, thou wouldst finally fear me and thy pride would be sunk forever. I wonder if thou wouldst enjoy it... yes, probably thou wouldst, because thou art an animal. Tell me then, Sauron, if I penetrated thee right now, wouldst thou beg me to stop, or to continue till the end?

And Melkor pulled aside the black cape, pressed his groin against him and moved his hips slightly, as if letting him know that he was ready to carry out his threat.

-I would beg neither for one thing nor for the other. –replied Sauron impassively. Melkor started, surprised by this reaction, and loosened his grip.- Wouldst thou still hold me in esteem if I begged thee? And anyway, it hurts me that my Lord thinks that I have such a low concept of him, that the physical union with his body would torment me. My Lord Melkor, if this is indeed what thou desirest, go ahead, do it. Honestly, I don't understand why thou wouldst prefer to have me in thy bed instead of on the battlefield, where I would be more useful no doubt. But nonetheless, whether in a place or in the other, I will always serve thee with loyalty and the best I can.

Then Melkor moved away from his lieutenant and stepped back, leaving him free. It made no sense to threaten someone who accepted his fate with such indifference, so stoically. And in any case, he wasn't even sure of being able to rape him. The very concept, the very word "rape", caused him an unbearable discomfort.  
Sauron turned away upon seeing himself freed from the pressure that pushed him against the wall, and looked face to face at his master. In those mismatched eyes that Melkor had hated so much, there wasn't a trace of disdain or arrogance anymore, but only complete and utter frankness, as if they were two open doors to the sincere thoughts of the Maia.  
Melkor knew that his lieutenant was offering him much more than his naked body: his naked heart.  
And he accepted the offer.

-Speak. –said the Vala, and stood there in silence, while Sauron confessed everything.

-My Lord Melkor, if I must do a revision of my life now, I can summarize it briefly: I have always loved thee. Since I heard thee singing the first music, that gave being to the universe, way back in the mists of time, till the day in which the second music sounds, that will put an end to everything, far away in the twilight of our days. In saying this, I would have said it all. It is true that I didn't follow thee at first and joined Aulë, because I didn't quite understand thee, and like the other Ainur saw nothing but chaos and destruction in thy actions. But little by little I came to understand, and the veil that covered my eyes fell. Many think that I'm one-eyed, but I actually see things that others do not see. Thus, behind the chaotic appearance of the lava eruptions that thou causedst in thy path, I perceived the perfect synchrony in the dance of the fire particles. Behind the cruel facade of thy sheer mountains, I discovered the solid geometry that keeps the world standing. And in the terrible storms of frost and snow that ravaged thy domains in the North, I found a symmetry so delicate and beautiful in every snowflake, that would have made the stars of Varda cry if they had seen it. Only in thy works I have found this beauty with which I fell in love, a beauty that shows itself brutal and ruthless, passionate and perplexing, but that contains in its smallest atoms the ordered harmony of numbers. And also in thee I found that same intangible mystery of thy works, also in thee I found a beauty that no one else seems to see. Sometimes I think not even thou canst see it. And to those who say that thou art sterile, that thou art unable to conceive, to create new life, I say to them that they are blind and haven't understood anything. They don't know that thou dost not need to create anything new, because thou already bearst in thy own being all that thou needst. Others may need to make things outside themselves, silly toys to fill their emptiness and poverty of spirit. But thou instead only hast to spread thy essence into the world, and let the pieces of thy soul flourish in Arda and result in beings that are partly new, and partly fragments of Melkor still. No one has ever loved Arda in a way so sincere, so devoted. To the point, that sometimes I fear that thou may be too generous with the earth, and filter so much into it that thou wilt end up disappearing definitely. All these are the reasons why I love thee, my Lord Melkor, and why I'm proud to be thy lieutenant. And yes, it is true that I'm often insolent and bold with thee. But only because I believe that false flattery and adulation are for the weak, and that thou deservest something better. That's why, whenever I consider it appropriate, I criticize thee if any of thy decisions seems wrong to me. That's why I have called thee Morgoth in my thoughts, because it hurts me that thou behavest exactly as our enemies imagine thee, as a parody of thyself, instead of as the god thou art. But despite all the criticism, despite all the protests and insolent replies, be it as Melkor or as Morgoth, do not doubt, not for a single moment, that I have always loved thee and will always be faithful to thee. And if thou really wantest to punish me, know that there is no torture, neither physical nor spiritual, that can break me completely, as long as I stay by thy side. So if what thou pretendest is my utter annihilation, then release me, send me back to Valinor with Aulë and drive me away from thee forever. Then will come at last my end, and I will wander as a shadow with no master and no consolation, and there shall be no Sauron any longer, nor shall remain anything from me.

Having said that, Sauron fell silent. Melkor was still quiet, and there was nothing in his expression that revealed even the slightest emotion. Perhaps the words of the Maia had moved him, or perhaps they had enraged him further.  
He just made a gesture with his hand and told him calmly:

-Come.

Sauron bowed his head, unsure of the fate that awaited him, and followed the Vala through numerous empty halls. Angband seemed to be deserted, as all living beings had hidden terrified before the fight between the Ainur. The lieutenant had the impression of being in another place, a place dreamt and constructed with an impossible geometry, where only existed the sound of the footsteps of Melkor and of him. He went down endless flights of winding stairs, or perhaps he went up, he wasn't very sure. And finally Melkor stopped before a large dark wooden door, opened it and told him to enter.  
The lieutenant had expected to find a torture chamber full of the most atrocious instruments. But instead, he found himself in that same room in which he had once discovered his master in complete rest, and had watched him fascinated. His rushed thoughts had him so distracted, that he hadn't even realized that it was there where they were heading.  
Melkor approached the big black bed, and ordered Sauron to close the door. He obeyed, but didn't dare to move from the entrance.  
Once alone in the bedroom, and safe from prying ears behind the protection of the four walls, the Vala decided to speak at last:

-Thou art right, Sauron. I am not Melkor anymore, but Morgoth. -there was so much sadness in his voice and in his eyes, that Sauron regretted at once having thought such horrible things about him, and tried to apologize. But Melkor stopped him- No, thou dost not need to explain anything. I know the truth, and thou knowest the truth. Thou hast always been honest with me, also in what thou saidst before. I have read thy heart and saw that all the love thou wert talking about was real, a love I never thought I was able to inspire in anyone. Thus it's time for me to be honest with thee as well. There's something I have concealed for a long time, and now I want to show it to thee.

And saying this, Melkor grabbed the rim of the velvet glove and pulled it up, revealing the pale skin of his right hand. Sauron opened his eyes expectantly, and felt how his heart quickened. The palm of the hand, that should have been perfectly white and unharmed, appeared now sullied by a nasty burn of unhealthy appearance.  
A twinge of pain shot through the lieutenant's chest.

-My Lord, what happened? How is it possible that they have done this to thee? –and he took a step toward him, in an attempt to offer comfort.

-The Silmarils, their fire burned me when I first touched them.

-But does it hurt thee? Why dost thou keep the burn, why dost thou not adopt a clean form if thou art so embarrassed by the wound, rather than hide it with a glove?

Melkor closed his eyes, and Sauron sensed that his words had hurt him deeply.

-Because I cannot. -confessed the Vala afflicted.- I don't know why, I've lost the ability to change shape and disembody. I feel that my power is dispersing, that I'm losing it all. Canst thou imagine how humiliating it is for me to see how all the other lesser Ainur change shape at will, and know that I'm unable? Dost thou understand the shame I feel for being locked inside a fragile body of flesh and blood, a body that anyone can hurt, or burn or tear? Canst thou now, if not approve, at least understand all the acts I've done out of fear, envy and anger? I, who was once the most powerful of the gods of Arda, reduced to this. And not just in the hand I have been burned. I have other burns as well, invisible and secret, but much more painful.

Sauron had his heart sink upon seeing his master so downcast, and covering the space that separated them, stood in front of the Vala and gently stroked his injured hand.

-My Lord, I wish I could do something to put an end to thy suffering, but I don't know how.

Melkor smiled sadly.

-Maybe thou canst, if not cure me, at least relieve me. Come here Sauron, cold heart, and where others attacked me with fire, leave me thy mark of ice.

Then Melkor sat on the bed, ordered Sauron to kneel down before him, and extended his right hand with the blackish palm up.

-Kiss me here. -he ordered, pointing at the burn of the Silmarils.

Sauron placed his lips on the scorched skin, and Melkor hissed with some pain, but didn't withdraw the hand.  
The lieutenant separated the mouth from the wound and raised his eyes, waiting for a new order.

-And here. –said the Vala pointing to his wrist, which the prison shackles had oppressed for three centuries.

Sauron bent and kissed also that transparent skin and the three thick veins that it showed underneath.

-And here. -Melkor pulled up the sleeve of his robe and pointed to the inside of his elbow, which the Maia kissed as he had done with the other parts.

-And here also. -this time, Melkor dropped his clothing from one side to discover the white shoulder, which had suffered so much pain in prison, stretched against the wall.

Sauron kissed the joint while he noticed an unusual passion awakening within him, and bolder than before, he touched those bones with the same delicacy of the last time.

-Here. –sighed Melkor, and pointed at his neck, around which he had wore the cruel steel of Angainor.

Sauron kissed it, not just once as before, but on several places and several times: on the side, on the slight protrusions of the trachea, on the round Adam's apple, which moved up and down upon feeling the touch of his lips, and following the line of the collarbone, and on the gap left between those two bones. On this occasion, they were wet kisses, and accompanied by caresses on the neck and through his hair. Melkor closed his eyes and let out another, even deeper sigh. The lieutenant noticed he was unbuttoning his robe, and out of the corner of the eye he saw how the fabric fell to his lap and left his chest exposed. Melkor drove the Maia away from his neck, descended with his hand along his own body, and pointed with his index finger at the left nipple, just the one that Mandos had stroked the first time he laid his abrasive hands on him. Sauron watched the little pink button, a little hardened by cold and arousal, and stroked it with his fingertips. Then he lowered his head and kissed it.

-Lick it, Sauron. –asked Melkor, with a lascivious gleam in his eyes.

The lieutenant felt himself blushing upon hearing this order. He was almost sure that only the offspring of animals sucked at their mothers' nipples to suckle the milk. Therefore, what his master had asked him to do, seemed to him something perverse and unnatural, something that would anger Eru. But precisely this thought, that the act would be against the laws of Eru, made him desire it even more, and pounced on the nipple to lick it and suck it with a passion, that he didn't believe himself capable of until now.  
Melkor moaned with pleasure, and slowly leaned over the bed until he was totally lying. Sauron put aside his cape and sword, that now were just a nuisance, and climbed over him to continue devouring the soft nipple, while the Vala gently stroked its companion on the right.  
So engrossed had become the lieutenant with that part of his master's body, that he barely noticed that Melkor, led by the passion of the moment, had finished pulling his robe down to the ankles, and was left completely naked under him.  
Sauron felt nervous: there was a Maia, supposedly a lower spirit, dressed from head to toe and with riding boots over the greatest of the Valar, naked and at his mercy. The reversal of roles and authority posed by the situation seemed delightful to him, but it also contained a great danger. Thus Sauron didn't dare to look down and discover with the eyes the intimate parts of his Lord.  
It was Melkor who obligued him to descend, and told him where to kiss running his finger down the line through his stomach and abdomen, up to his pubis. Sauron followed that path with his heart about to explode, and where the fingers of Mandos had left a trail of fire and pain, he left the wet and icy marks of his lips.  
The Vala's stomach contracted as it felt the cold touch of the tongue across its velvety surface. And then, when the mouth of the lieutenant sank into the fine hair that ran from below his navel to the region between his legs, all his muscles tensed and writhed in pleasure.  
Sauron sensed the presence of his master's sex pressing against him, but he hadn't gathered yet enough courage to look at it. Then Melkor grinned, took the hand of the lieutenant and placed it on his member.

-Here, Sauron, here too. -he whispered.

The Maia felt the throbbing organ between his fingers, and watching it at last, it seemed to him a being with its own life, like a rare flower opened under the rain, obscenely beautiful.  
Sauron had never had too much time or interest to explore himself, and the vision that revealed itself now before his eyes, fascinated him and triggered a rush of adrenaline through his veins. Overcome by desire, he kissed the soft end of the shaft, and then ran his tongue through it slowly and in circles. Melkor lifted his hips slightly and his breath became agitated. After this he felt the lieutenant licking his member up and down, and then, without warning, he inserted it whole into his mouth. The Vala let out a moan quite unbecoming of a god and arched his back, overwhelmed by the sudden pleasure of being taken entirely inside that warm wet cavity.  
Sauron had also started reacting to the movements of his master. For some mysterious reason, seeing him enjoying that made him enjoy it to the same extent, even though no one was touching him. A pleasant feeling tingled between his legs, and an aggressive impulse was awakening in him, the same impulse that overcame him each time he turned into a werewolf or beast. Blinded by instinct, he ended up brushing the sensitive skin of the Vala with his fangs, and his master jumped in alarm.

-Be careful, stupid! Those are not ways to treat thy Lord. –complained Melkor, giving him a slight blow on the head.

The lieutenant felt embarrassed: it wasn't typical of him to lose control like that, he, that was always guided by reason, that was never carried away by base passion. However, Melkor soon relaxed again, and spreading his legs wide, he asked him to continue down.  
Sauron made an effort to control himself, and went through the space between the member and the opening of the Vala more carefully. In contrast to his effort to remain calm, Melkor had renounced to all restraint, and the feeling of the tongue circling his entrance, and even venturing inside, gave him tremors in the legs and made him curse and let out obscenities under his breath.  
The Maia looked up for a moment and stared at his master: a pale and frail figure abandoned on the black silk, the dark patch of hair between his legs, where his member lay throbbing and crowned by a slight clear dew, the clenched fingers clutching at the sheets, and the chest heaving among rattles, the eyes closed, the mouth slightly open, and the light of the Silmarils bathing the bedhead with a ghostly glow. He said to himself that this was the most beautiful creature that he had ever beheld.  
Melkor chuckled.

-Even more than the daughter of Melian? –he murmured.

-What, my Lord?

-I mean if thou considerst me even more beautiful than the daughter of Melian. I've heard that she is the most beautiful being that ever existed.

Sauron realized that the Vala had read again his mind in a treacherous way.

-I haven't had the pleasure of meeting the daughter of Melian yet, my Lord. However, I promise thee that when I see her at last, I won't consider her better than the most abject of Orcs in comparison with thee. –replied the lieutenant slyly.- However, if my Lord has that whim, I will capture her for thee and hang her in a cage over thy bed, and will force her to sing as a locked nightingale while I make thee love before her eyes.

Melkor laughed evilly, and ran a hand through the black hair of his lieutenant, with something similar to affection.

-Yes, that would please me in the extreme... And locking Thingol as well, that robber and rogue king, so he knows of the fate run by his beloved daughter. Now come here, Sauron, my sadistic servant. I want to see thy body. -and Melkor pulled from him toward the bedhead.

Kneeling the two on the bed, face to face, the Maia proceeded to undress himself for his Lord. Melkor ran his aroused eyes over the anatomy of his lieutenant: the hard body, firm and slender, of adamantine whiteness, of muscles sculpted with cutting edges, cold and domineering according to his character. It was evident that he lacked the delicacy typical of the Vala, that his skin hadn't the same softness and transparency, as befitted his inferior status. This reassured the ego of Melkor.  
Then he stared at the lower part of the body discovered before him:

-It's very ... very big, isn't it? –said Melkor, pointing puzzled at the member of the Maia.

Sauron looked down and blushed. He had never seen his shaft so swollen and erect. Maybe sometimes, while he lashed a prisoner with the whip, or while riding a horse, he had felt it hardening a bit, but hadn't given importance to it.  
Seeing it that way now, he had to admit that it was, indeed, fairly large, at least compared to that of the Vala.

-I'm afraid that it's a little rough, my Lord. Had I known we were going to get intimate in this way, I would have prepared a body more graceful and delicate for thee. I suppose that Gorthaur the Cruel is not the most appropriate thing. -he apologized.

A voracious flash danced in the eyes of the Vala as he continued staring at him, and he licked his lips as a predator before jumping on its prey.

-No, no, leave it ... I like Gorthaur the Cruel. -he smiled, moving dangerously towards Sauron.

And before the Maia had time to react, he pounced upon him and began to lick his member with insatiable hunger.  
The lieutenant let out a moan of surprise and almost lost his balance. A new and unknown pleasure flowed through his nerves from the lower abdomen, hindered his breathing, and made him pump blood at an unnatural rate. He wondered why Eru would have granted such a strange sensitivity to that area, which seemed pleasant, but at the same time produced effects in the body so similar to those of terror and anxiety.  
He tried to restrain himself but failed pathetically, and within minutes he had lost control of his muscles and was moving involuntarily against the mouth of his own master. Very disrespectful. Also, at one point he came so close to the crown of iron, that one of the Silmaril seared his skin.  
Sauron writhed and groaned. Melkor looked up with a questioning expression, and finally abandoned the abused member. He probably had confused the cry of pain with one of pleasure.

-Well, with this will be enough. -he said, wiping his mouth.

And putting his arms around the back of his lieutenant, made him lie on him at full lenght.  
The light of the Silmarils directly in front of his face, pierced the eyes of the Maia with a sharp stinging, and he was forced to close them at once and turn the head away. Scalding tears fell down his cheek, and he thought he would be lucky if he didn't end with both eyes as a smoked glass after this.

-Sorry, my Lord, but I can't look at thee so closely. Or that incandescent light will be the last thing my eyes see. –he lamented.

Melkor was silent for a moment, and then made a movement with his arm.

-Look at me now. –said the Vala.

Sauron opened his eyes, with some fear, and blinked in confusion at the new image that appeared before him. Melkor's face seemed much paler and much less divine now, but the gleam in his black eyes and his serene smile weren't blurred by the light beams of any gem. The iron crown lay hanging from the bedpost.  
Words failed Sauron. His master had taken the crown off, the crown that he swore he would never take off, and he had done it for him, just for him. It was the greatest sign of appreciation that anyone could expect from Melkor.

-Thou better never tellst anybody about this. –warned the Vala, stroking his neck.

-Dost thou mean that I don't tell anybody about this thing we're doing? -and the Maia pointed at their naked and pressed together bodies.

-No, thou idiot, that thou dost not tell anybody about THIS! -snapped Melkor pointing at the discarded crown.- What does it matter to me if thou boastest about the carnal favours that thy Lord grants thee? It's thy problem if thou wantest to be the target of all envy and hatred. But no one should ever know that the Silmarils have been for a time on another place but my head. Thou hast not seen any of this, none of this has ever happened! Understood?

-Of course, my Lord.

-Well. And now attend, because we have not finished yet. -and saying this, Melkor rose his legs and entwined them around the back of his lieutenant.- Enter. -he commanded.

Sauron felt very embarrassed upon realizing how vulnerable and exposed had been left his master in that position. How could he offer himself in a way so absolute, so shameless, so sincere?

-My Lord Melkor, please don't ask me to do this. I cannot. I'm just a Maia, I have no right to desecrate the virginity of a god. -he apologized, looking away disturbed.

Melkor frowned irritated.

-Who dost thou think thou art to decide about my virginity, arrogant insect!? Enter!

The order sounded defiant in Sauron's ears, and he gritted his teeth in annoyance. The pupil of his left eye had suddenly contracted, and grabbing Melkor by the thighs with violence, he lifted them to open him completely.

-Very well, my Lord, thou hast wanted it so. Don't bear a grudge against me when I hurt thee. -and with this last warning, he penetrated him all the way inside with a thrust.

Melkor opened his eyes wide and gasped for air, while he writhed and clung to the sheets in vain, as if trying to flee the invading member that pierced him without mercy. A single moan of agony escaped his lips when he cought his breath.  
That had hurt, he couldn't deny it, and Sauron was sure that now some terrible punishment would fall upon him, even if it was just for obeying Melkor. Anyway, it was worth seeing that look of surprise and helplessness in the face of his master for once, and knowing that it was him, Sauron, who had caused it. The sadistic part of his being would delight in that image for eternity.  
However, there was no punishment, no outbreak of anger, not even a slight annoyance. Melkor gradually relaxed, and the expression of pain was replaced by one of serene pleasure, almost of peace. The Vala smiled and stroked his lieutenant on the cheek. Then Sauron forgot the mean thoughts that haunted his head a moment ago, and was overcome by a deep love, and wished to not be separated from his master anymore.  
Now he could feel him in full, warm inside, trembling, and once more noticed the strange pulsation going through his body, but this time in a slight and softened way. He didn't know whether it was his power, or just the beating of his heart.  
Sauron stayed immobile for a while, enjoying that sensation of fullness and appeasement, and waited for the body of Melkor to adapt.

-Move. –asked the Vala in a whisper, squinting, and put his arms around his back.

At first the Maia slid inside and outside very slow, cautiously, but found that they fit into each other more easily than he had expected. Saliva, however, also helped.  
With a little more confidence, he dared to speed up the pace a little, and after a certain thrust that was harder than usual, Melkor started.

-What was that? -he asked confused.

-What, my Lord?

-That. Something thou hast touched in there. The last time I didn't notice ...

-What, my Lord?

-Nothing, nothing ... -Melkor left the subject aside, evasively.- Just keep touching that point. I like it. I don't know why Eru has placed it right there.

-For my Lord's enjoyment, of course.

Melkor laughed, and a new thrust brushed him again in that secret spot and stole a sigh from him. And then another, and another, and then a stifled moan and a contraction.

-Speak to me, Sauron. –muttered the Vala with his eyes closed.

-About what, my Lord?

-What dost thou mean, about what? About me, of course.

The Maia smiled and leaned over him a little more, to be near his ear.

-There's not much more to add to what I've already said. Only that I can't believe that my Lord has granted me the privilege to join him so closely. I've pondered over innumerable things and I've foreseen hundreds of possible scenarios in regard to peace and war. But I could never foresee this. And that I'm the only being in Arda that can enjoy thy favours, that's more than what my ego can handle.

-And what makes thee think thou art the only one? –provoked Melkor- What if I told thee that just yesterday, Gothmog was doing this same thing to me in this same bed?

-Then, my Lord, I would grab Gothmog and force him to swallow his own flaming whip, followed by his own arm. And thereafter, I would ask my Lord why does he have such a bad taste.

Melkor stifled a laugh.  
Then a disturbing doubt assailed the mind of the lieutenant, and he stopped for a moment.

-My Lord, art thou perchance serious and hast thou already done this before with someone else?

Melkor's eyes widened in surprise, and Sauron had the impression that a shadow of fleeting sadness crossed his face. But then the Vala shook his head vigorously and drew him even closer to his chest.

-No, no, never, never Sauron, never before, never ever! Just keep moving, don't stop now.

The Maia forgot the matter and continued with the act. His aggressiveness was increasing, and soon thereafter Melkor almost bounced on the mattress with each thrust, and each bounce was accompanied by a scream. It was obvious that the Vala began to have serious difficulties controlling his body and breathe.  
Sauron had the mouth of his master very close, half open and panting, and there was nothing he desired more than kissing him or biting his lip, as he had seen his Lord do whenever he got frustrated.  
But Melkor hadn't given him permission to do that, so he contented himself watching his expression. It was curious that the visage of pleasure resembled so much the visage of pain.

-Keep talking. What else... What else wouldst thou do for me? –gasped the Vala, almost inaudibly, and Sauron had to make an effort to answer, for he too was very suffocated.

-What else? I wish that, just as my Lord is part of all the earth, I too could be part of all the lava streams that run through the earth. Thus I could flow through all thy conduits, all thy secret passages and cavities at the same time, and open channels through thy body, and go outside in a climax of eruptions of fire, and ash, and molten rock, in the middle of a tremor of earth and magma.

Melkor squirmed and let out another plaintive moan. He was barely aware of anything now.

-And what else, what else wouldst thou do? -Sauron licked his neck, not caring whether it was appropriate or not, and whispered in his ear:

-I wish that we could both disembody, and ascend together to the exterior voids, to the Timeless Halls where it all began, and there before Eru we would merge into each other, and we would sing a music a thousand times more beautiful than the one that gave being to Eä, and Eru would cry upon seeing our union, and bitterly regret being "The One", "He that is Alone".

-Yes! –cried Melkor arching his back.- Do it, Sauron, do that, go deeper! Deeper!

Sauron didn't know at first what did he mean with "deeper". But then, as he heard the pleas of his master, there was light in his understanding.  
Then he disembodied in part, just the necessary, and penetrated the flesh of the Vala, through his skin, his bones and his organs. In the middle of darkness he discovered the spirit of the Ainu, lonely and shivering, forever isolated from the world by the four walls of matter. Sauron stroked him gently and then entered him.  
For a few seconds both spirits, separated at the beginning of time by the mind of Eru, were one and the same again, and in the midst of that mystical communion they understood things about each other, that after separating they would never remember again.  
Melkor threw his head back and dug his nails into the back of Sauron, shaken by a current of indescribable pleasure.

-Enough! -he screamed, and the lieutenant embodied again completely and put an end to the blasphemous fusion.

Just in that moment, he felt a strong pulsation that seemed to come from deepest in the subsoil, and when the Vala let out the final moan, torn and full of anguished joy, it was as if the whole earth moaned too, as if every rock and mountain where Melkor had ever left a part of himself, broke at that moment of glory. And all the beings who shared in the essence of the Vala also shared in a small part of his pleasure. And all the beings who opposed him, felt their hearts shrinking in terror.  
The lieutenant could not escape from that kind of shock wave, and he was caught and enjoyed himself with each contraction of the body of his master. However, his climax struck him as mediocre, poor and selfish compared to that of the Vala.

When the storm subsided, Melkor was left lying and motionless, as if he had died. And if it wasn't for his chest which still rose and fell amid a deep breath, and because he was an Ainu, Sauron would have truly believed that he was dead.  
It was possible that he would never again see his Lord in such a state of serene and perfect bliss, and taking advantage of the fleeting moment, the lieutenant laid down and embraced him to feel every inch of skin and bone and each throbbing of blood against his own body. Still inserted within him, he could feel the last contractions that died alongside the strenght of the Vala.  
After a while, that maybe was a second or perhaps an eternity, Melkor opened his eyes and finally reacted. The foreign member, still stuck into his cavity, seemed now annoying and a bit painful to him, and he shifted uncomfortably.

-Sauron, leave now. -he complained.

The Maia sighed with resignation.

-My Lord, of all the orders that thou hast given me, this is definitely the one I find most difficult to obey.

But he separated from the Vala. A strange sadness, half pleasant and half heartbreaking, had seized him, and all his aggressiveness had vanished as if by magic.  
Melkor laid on his side and put his arm around the neck of the lieutenant, drowsy.

-Dost thou think the sounds of our passion have been heard in Angband, Sauron?

-I'm afraid they've been heard over the whole Beleriand.

Melkor chuckled.

-I hope so. Now they can speak of Lammoth, "the Great Echo", for another reason. -Sauron smiled, showing a fang, and stroked the back of the hand that rested on his neck.- I still have one last burn that I want thee to kiss. –said Melkor then, and pointed at his lips.

Sauron didn't have to think twice, and consoled himself after the separation by joining his mouth to that of the Vala, in a play of entwined tongues that he wished to last forever. As he kissed thus his master, he perceived a part of the power of Melkor coming from inside of him and passing to his mouth, to descend then like a flame torrent to the Maia's core, where it remained thereafter.  
Melkor parted his lips with a little sigh.

-My Lord, it wasn't necessary that thou didst that ...-but the finger of the Vala on his mouth silenced the lieutenant.

-Do not say anything. It is my privilege to grant my power whom I want, and to strip him of it when I want. Perhaps in this way, someday, thou wilt stop being so cold inside and thou wilt be able to create life as well.

-I don't know how could I thank thee.

-Don't worry, this is just a gift, I won't make thee pay for it. Thou hast left me satisfied and I'm feeling generous, that's all.

Then one very important detail, that Sauron had almost forgotten amid the tide of pleasure, re-emerged in his head:

-Maybe this will seem like an abuse to thee, my Lord. But I'd like to ask thee something now, before it's too late. Please, spare Glaurung's life and don't let the Orcs mistreat my servant. I only ask thee that.

Melkor rolled his eyes and groaned sulkily.

-Thou takest advantage of my weakness and my fatigue. But whatever, I forgive them both! I didn't even remember that issue. In fact, I find it completely irrelevant. All I want to do now is resting and sleeping.

Sauron knew when he wasn't needed in some place, and seeing his master closing his eyes exhausted, he stood up from the bed and began to pick his clothes, scattered all over the bedroom's floor.

-What dost thou think thou art doing!? -yelled a voice behind him.

Turning around, he ran into the aflame look and angry expression of his master. Very little time had lasted his post-climax calm, indeed.

-My Lord Melkor, I was just gathering my things to leave. Since thou saidst thou wantedst to sleep ...

-Oh, very nice! So after enjoying my body, after possessing me, thou leavest without further ado, right? Ungrateful one, this is how thou thankst me for all that I've given thee!

Sauron turned pale and he choked on the words.

-I... I... I thought thou didst not need me anymore... I was going to reorganize the Orcs, who have fled in disarray and now roam aimlessly around Angband. I fear that there's any disturbance and...

- Orcs! All this time, while thou madest love to me, thou wert thinking about the nasty Orcs!?

-No, my Lord, I thought of you! Of the Orcs I have only thought now but...

-Go back into bed immediately!

The lieutenant realized that arguing at that time was a suicidal course of action, and jumped back into bed, and put an arm around the waist of the Vala to appease him.

-I haven't given thee permission to put that arm there! -Sauron withdrew his arm at once and Melkor frowned.- But I haven't commanded thee to withdraw it either. Embrace me again.

The poor Maia surrounded him with his arm once more, annoyed.

-Fine, I want thee to stay here with me while I sleep and to contemplate me. And to reflect on how infinitely fortunate thou art for being thus, besides the most powerful god of Arda. And to watch my crown of Silmarils, of course.

The lieutenant nodded, and hold him tightly to his chest, for him to sleep in peace. The Vala gave off a very nice warmth, and the touch of his soft skin and the hair between his legs awoke again Sauron's animal instincts. Of course, he couldn't deny that he felt fortunate, but his satisfaction wasn't complete still.

-I sense that thou hast still concern in thy heart, Sauron. –murmured Melkor amid a yawn.- Tell me what it is.

-Forgive me for insisting, my Lord, but I'm mulling over the matter of the Orcs. I can't stay calm knowing that they swarm out there in freedom and disorder. Just as Glaurung. And I worry about the safety of my human, since the orders concerning his punishment remain unclear. And perhaps, after the stampede of the dragon, the Noldor will want to start a counter-attack.

Melkor hissed through his gritted teeth.

-Thou art a really tedious bed mate, Sauron. Maybe I should have called Gothmog to my chambers, instead of thee.

Then a sudden idea took shape in the mind of the lieutenant, and a brief flash of mischief crossed the glassy surface of his right eye.

-That is it, my Lord, call Gothmog to thy chambers.

Melkor seemed confused, and even a little shy.

-Dost thou want that we all three make love together, me and thou and Gothmog? I thought thou hatedst him.

Sauron struggled to scare that awful image away from his head.

-No, my Lord, no! What I mean is that Gothmog could stay in charge of everything while I accompany thee in thy rest.

-Oh! Of course! -and Melkor looked away so his lieutenant couldn't discover the small disappointment in his eyes.

Right after, he placed the crown of Silmarils on his head again, hid the burn of his hand beneath the glove, and called the name of the Balrog at the top of his lungs for him to come to his chambers.  
A few minutes later, some slow and heavy footsteps echoed in the hall outside, and the door opened. Gothmog's face upon bursting in the bedroom was worth seeing.  
For a moment, even the flames surrounding his head were frozen in place, his jaw hung as dislocated by a blow, and his wide and unbelieving eyes fell alternately on the naked body of the Vala, and on the not less naked body of his rival. Sauron was situated just behind Melkor, and while the latter explained to the Balrog what he had to do in Angband, the lieutenant ran his finger through the ribs, the waist and the hip bone of his master, with the most wicked grin of triumph painted on his face. And his eyes, staring intently at the Balrog, seemed to say: "Look, Gothmog, look who is the favourite of the master Melkor."  
Given this, Gothmog had to content himself shooting a murderous look at the lieutenant, with clenched teeth and fists trembling from anger.  
Sauron enjoyed that moment almost more than what he had enjoyed mating with Melkor. The existence of the entire universe was justified for him, just because he could see how the fire that enveloped Gothmog passed in a second from red to green out of envy.  
Meanwhile, Melkor's instructions reached the ears of the demon as nothing more than a background murmur.

-Gothmog, art thou listening to me?! -the Balrog tottered, startled by the shout of the Vala, and laid his eyes on the body of his Lord, which disturbed him so much.- May I know what art thou doing standing there like a fool, and what art thou looking at so intrigued!? Go away to obey my orders!

Gothmog nodded, mumbled a "Yes, my Lord", and stumbled out of the bedroom without really knowing what he had actually been ordered.  
After this, Melkor left the crown on the bedpost, threw the glove to the floor, and pressed against his lieutenant again, hoping to sleep in peace this time. Before plunging into the pit of unconsciousness, he asked one last question to the Maia:

-Sauron, if I ever (I'm not saying that it will happen, but just imagine it to be so), if I ever was banished to the cold and desolate Void, wouldst thou accompany me in my exile?

The lieutenant stroked his cheek gently.

-No, my Lord, I wouldn't accompany thee. Because I would stay in Middle Earth to make sure thy legacy remains on it for as long as possible. But if despite everything, I finally failed and was defeated, and they sent me to the cold and desolate Void as well, with my Lord, then I wouldn't take this as a punishment. I would take it as the most desired and deserved prize after so many centuries of painstaking effort, because I could be forever by thy side, and embrace thee, and release thee no more.

Melkor bit his lip, a little displeased.

-Well, I will decide whether that answer of thine satisfies me or whether it annoys me deeply, when I wake up.

And saying this, he closed his eyes and fell asleep. He had left his head on the shoulder of Sauron, and the Maia knew immediately that it would hurt later. But thus must it be with Melkor: a fleeting sparkle of bliss, followed by an eternity of torment.  
Very carefully, he brushed a strand of hair from his face and dared to kiss his closed eyelids. Then stretched the sheets over the body of both.  
He thought about the situation in which he and the Vala had been left after what had happened. There they were: the Dark Lord and the fearsome lieutenant of Angband embracing in a bed, and just for once, neither of them planned anything evil or terrifying.  
They simply "were".  
No doubt Eru, rather than crying, was laughing at such a sight, far away in the Timeless Halls.

But frankly, Sauron could not care less.


End file.
